The Thorne of Destiny-Chapter 143: Newas 9

Mist hung heavy in the air as the caravan wound its way out of the forgotten village. Adrian rode at the front, face set like carved stone, but his eyes glimmered with purpose. Each new follower—each remnant of the Mistshroud Sect he uncovered—was a flicker of hope, a spark that whispered the same thing again and again:

We are not dead.

The journey ahead was long, and the empire vast, but Adrian knew now that the embers were still warm. All they needed was breath—and the fire would rise again.

He glanced behind him at the small band of cultivators—some young, some weathered, all carrying the same look in their eyes.

Resolve.

Beside him, Bella gripped her spear. "They’re waiting for us."

"They always have been," Adrian said. "But now... we’re not running."

Stonehold City – Inner Sanctum of the City Lord

City Lord Richard stood before an obsidian mirror, his reflection warped by strands of dark energy pulsing along its edges. His breathing was shallow. The letter he held trembled between his fingers.

A report.

The Dust Order had failed. Again.

Julian was gone. The Raven Chain was gone. The citizens were restless. The nobles were beginning to question his authority.

His hands clenched.

Then the mirror pulsed. Once. Twice.

A distorted voice echoed out. "You promised us a prize."

Richard bowed his head. "He slipped through—"

"Not good enough."

"I’ll find him. I swear it. Even if I must burn the entire northern border."

The voice crackled. "You’ll do more than that. You’ll bleed. Or we’ll come collect."

Then the mirror shattered.

Richard stood motionless before the shards.

"...Then let it burn," he whispered.

Northern Wastes – Shrouded Path

They came upon another shrine, buried beneath wind-swept dunes. The outer hall had collapsed, but the core altar still stood, guarded by statues of ancient sect elders.

As Adrian placed his hand against the altar, the Bound Star pulsed again—brighter this time. More vivid.

He saw visions.

A battlefield. A broken star. A girl made of mist, standing defiant against an army of shadows.

And a name whispered on the wind:

"Aurelia."

The name struck something in his soul.

When the vision faded, Adrian staggered back, breathing heavily.

Bella caught his arm. "What did you see?"

"Her," he said. "Someone... important. Someone who came before me."

Laen stepped forward. "Aurelia Mistshroud. The last Starborne Matriarch. She vanished before the sect’s fall."

Adrian looked at his hand, where the starlight still glowed.

"She didn’t vanish," he said. "She’s calling."

Capital of the Empire – Whispering Spire

In the highest tower of the imperial court, cloaked figures gathered in silence. They stood before a vast celestial chart, showing the movements of fate, destiny, and chaos. One star burned brighter than the rest—moving against the tide.

A woman stepped forward, clad in armor made of silver flame. Her eyes were veiled.

"The boy has awakened too much," she said.

A man beside her, older, laughed. "He’s only a boy until he stops running. Then he becomes something worse."

"The Starbound were extinct," another muttered.

"History repeats. Or perhaps it simply never ended."

The veiled woman lifted a hand.

"Watch him. But do not interfere."

"For now."

The Mistshroud Sect encampment was quiet, nestled beside the ancient shrine they’d reclaimed two days ago. Mist curled between the tents and wagons, weaving like living memory around silent figures, whispering promises of purpose and survival. The light of dawn hadn’t yet crested the jagged cliffs, but Adrian was already awake, seated in meditation before the shrine’s foundation stone.

The faint outline of Aurelia Mistshroud—the first matron of the sect—no longer appeared, but her presence still lingered, etched into the stone and the air like forgotten song.

Adrian opened his eyes.

The Bound Star pulsed within him, slow and steady.

Footsteps approached, muffled against the moss-laden floor. Bella stopped a few paces behind him.

"Scouts returned," she said.

He nodded. "And?"

"The Dust Order isn’t retreating. They’re gathering. We’ve spotted symbols burnt into the canyon walls to the east. Ritual sites. They’re preparing something."

Adrian rose slowly. "A message. Or a trap."

Bella’s expression hardened. "Either way, they want us to come."

"And we will. But on our terms."

He turned back to the shrine. "In another time, this was a place of sanctuary. Let it become one again. Not just for the Mistshroud Sect... but for any who have been cast aside."

A short while later, the camp stirred to life. Olivia walked briskly between tents, a formation scroll clutched tightly in one hand. Elder Laen stood at the far edge of the shrine’s outer ring, overseeing the reconstruction of protective wards. Even Storm had begun patrolling the perimeter, his instincts sharpened, no longer just a cub, but a guardian.

By noon, a group of wanderers approached—led by a weathered cultivator bearing the sigil of the Jade Antler sect, long thought extinguished. Adrian stepped forward to greet them.

"We heard the mist had returned," the old man said, his voice hoarse. "We followed it."

Adrian extended his hand. "Then walk with us."

They joined the camp. More would come.

Elsewhere – Deep Forest near Hollow Spine Ridge

City Lord Richard stood at the edge of a massive crater. Blackened trees surrounded him, their trunks cracked and leaning away from the blast. In the center of the crater lay the remains of a defiled shrine—the ashes of a forgotten cult’s altar.

"He’s rebuilding it," Richard muttered.

Behind him, the same faceless advisor lingered. "The empire has noticed. The southern provinces whisper of a rising star. The Bound Star."

"Then we extinguish it," Richard growled. "No matter the cost."

"The Wraiths have failed. The Dust Order struggles."

"Then we call upon the old pacts. Reach out to the Venom Pagoda. To the Black Lotus Cult. To whoever still remembers the price of failure."

The advisor hesitated. "That may draw attention from the imperial court."

Richard turned, face twisted with rage. "Then let them watch. Let them tremble. I will not let a child defy me."

Nightfall – Mistshroud Camp

Under the veil of darkness, Adrian stood atop a newly built watchtower overlooking the forest. Stars glittered faintly above, half-shrouded by rolling mist. He traced a symbol in the air—one of the Bound Star’s ancient sigils.

A pulse answered.

From the edge of the woods, a young boy stepped out, barely fifteen, robes tattered, eyes wide.

"You came alone?" Adrian asked.

The boy nodded. "My village was destroyed. They said... the mist would protect me."

Adrian descended from the tower and knelt.

"It will. Welcome to Mistshroud."

The boy began to cry.

Adrian rested a hand on his shoulder.

"You’re not alone anymore."

Final Scene – The Imperial Observatory

Far above the capital, in a spire encased in crystal and cloud, three imperial augurs studied the flow of fate through massive soul mirrors. Threads of golden and crimson light intertwined.

"The Bound Star grows brighter."

"He walks the line between salvation and ruin."

"And the empire watches."

They turned to the center mirror, where Adrian’s image burned brighter than before.

"When he enters the imperial domain, we must be ready."

Outside, the first streak of true dawn pierced the heavens.

The age of mist and flame had begun.

The wind howled through the broken rafters of the ancient village, whistling a mournful tune.

Adrian stood beneath the cracked archway of the old hall, the villagers—now disciples—kneeling before the foundation stone. Each of them had once carried the Mistshroud’s mark. Some bore it in blood, others only in memory.

But now, they would carry it in truth.

"Elder Laen," Adrian called.

The old man stepped forward, a fresh robe wrapped over his faded one, the scent of burnt incense clinging to him. "They’ve been tested. Scarred. Lost. But not broken."

Adrian nodded. "Then the Mistshroud Sect is reborn—not from might, but from survival."

He turned to face the new disciples. Olivia stood among them, eyes bright, her pendant of carved jade glowing faintly. Jayson, taller now, rested one hand on the hilt of a practice blade, his other hand on Storm’s head.

Adrian’s voice was calm, but carried weight. "We are not here to reclaim old glory. We are not the Mistshroud of the past. We are the Mistshroud of now—of tomorrow."

He raised his hand.

From his palm, the Bound Star flared to life, mist and starlight weaving into a sigil that branded itself onto the sky above.

One by one, the villagers bowed.

Far off in the distance, under a mountain cloaked in fog, the echo of that power stirred something ancient.

Meanwhile – The Capital

At the Imperial Palace, the Celestial Archive trembled.

Scrolls fluttered on their own. Spirit arrays glowed with golden warning.

The wind howled through the broken rafters of the ancient village, whistling a mournful tune.

Adrian stood beneath the cracked archway of the old hall, the villagers—now disciples—kneeling before the foundation stone. Each of them had once carried the Mistshroud’s mark. Some bore it in blood, others only in memory.

But now, they would carry it in truth.

"Elder Laen," Adrian called.

The old man stepped forward, a fresh robe wrapped over his faded one, the scent of burnt incense clinging to him. "They’ve been tested. Scarred. Lost. But not broken."

Adrian nodded. "Then the Mistshroud Sect is reborn—not from might, but from survival."