Silent Power: Rise Of the Hidden Heir

A Deal In The Dark

 Kaelen’s smile didn’t touch his eyes. They stayed cold and sharp, like a jeweler inspecting a cracked gem. The two scavengers behind him froze, then slowly backed into the ruined trees, their fight forgotten in the shadow of real power.

Ronan’s mind screamed.. “run. But his body didn’t move. His instincts, tuned by the system, kept him rooted. Running only made predators want to chase. Survival chance against this target: unknown.

“I don’t want trouble,” Ronan said, keeping his voice steady. “I was just hiding from the Tide.”

“Hiding,” Kaelen repeated, stepping closer, calm and measured. His gaze swept over the dead wolf, the smashed ruins, and lingered on Ronan’s hands. “In an unregistered, unsecured ancient site. And you come out of it with the aura of someone who just… feasted.”

He sniffed the air like it told him secrets. “Skin Refining. Recent. Strong. For a gutter rat, that’s impressive. Almost as impressive as the fact my family’s scouts didn’t find this little hole in the ground.”

Every word dripped warning.

The Obsidian Line. One of the five Ancient Bloodline Families that ruled New York. To them, people like Ronan were insects. Tools to be used or obstacles to crush.

Ronan swallowed hard. “Yeah… I can feel that.”

A warning flickered through Ronan’s mind.

This guy’s aura… it’s strong. Too strong. Peak Body Refining at least. Maybe higher.

Ronan’s stomach tightened. Body Refining. Two full realms above him. This wasn’t just stronger, it was a different league. Like comparing a toddler to a professional fighter.

“I got lucky,” Ronan said quickly. “The wolf was already hurt. I found some old dew in the ruins and drank it. That’s it.”

Kaelen raised one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Dawn Well Dew? In a Skin Refiner ruin?” He gave a small nod. “Possible.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that Ronan noticed the fine black threads woven into his collar, glinting faintly in the sunlight. Actual spiritual armor.

“But luck doesn’t explain what I’m feeling,” Kaelen said, his voice calm, but sharp, almost dangerous. “Your foundation… it’s too solid. For a back alley cultivator, that’s… unusual.”

A shiver ran down Ronan’s spine. The system, his guide to perfection, had just made him a target.

“What do you want?” Ronan asked, dropping the pretense.

Kaelen’s playful smile vanished. “The truth,” he said. “What did you find in that ruin? A manual? A relic?” His gaze swept over the dead wolf. “Everything unclaimed in this area belongs to my family. Hand it over, and maybe… maybe I’ll let you walk away with the pelt as a finder’s f*e.”

Ronan’s chest tightened. His mind raced.

If he lied, Kaelen would know.

If he told the truth about the system… he wouldn’t live to finish a sentence.

If he fought… he wouldn’t last a heartbeat.

Choices were disappearing fast, and none of them were good.

Then a new thought popped into Ronan’s head.

This is it. Misdirection. Offer part of the truth. Barter.

He drew a slow breath. “There’s no manual,” he said. “The place is empty. But… the cultivation chamber? The Aura formation inside it, it’s still intact. That’s what I used. It’s spent for me now, but…”

He let the sentence trail off. Kaelen’s black eyes sharpened. An untouched formation like that was priceless. Families would kill to study it, replicate it, speed up their weaker members’ training.

“Go on,” Kaelen said softly, almost a purr.

“I’ll show you,” Ronan said quickly, the words spilling out on cue with the system’s prompt. “I’ll give you the exact way in. In exchange… you let me go. And you give me one of those.” He pointed to a small pouch on Kaelen’s belt. Even from here, his enhanced senses picked up the rich, concentrated smell of the contents, military grade ration bars, infused with Aura.

Kaelen’s head snapped back, and he barked out a sharp laugh. “You’re haggling with me? Over ration bars?”

“I’m hungry,” Ronan said, keeping his voice calm but honest enough to sell it. “Safe passage through the formation… and food. That’s the deal.”

Kaelen studied him, amusement flickering back across his face. This was easy to read, a desperate scavenger, trading something valuable just to survive. Pitiful. Perfect.

“Fine,” Kaelen said, unclipping the pouch from his belt and tossing it to Ronan’s feet. “Show me.”

Ronan’s fingers shook slightly as he picked it up. He led Kaelen to the cracked entrance. “The chamber is down the stairs,” he said. “The Aura gathers in a pattern on the dais. You sit, follow the root flow… in seven, hold four, out eight. The carvings on the walls pulse with it.”

He explained the steps, careful not to reveal the source, the system itself. It was useful information, true enough to interest Kaelen, but it wasn’t the real engine behind his power.

Kaelen tilted his head, eyes scanning the faint, lingering Aura below. “Root flow,” he murmured. “Basic Earth technique. Simple… but clean.” He looked at Ronan, a hint of pity in his gaze. “You just traded a diamond for a crust of bread, rat. But a deal is a deal.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Go on. Leave before I change my mind.”

Ronan didn’t need telling twice. He grabbed the pouch, moved fast but steady through the shattered trees, not running, just putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Obsidian Line. He didn’t look back.

[Immediate threat neutralized. Temporary safety secured.]

[New priority: Leave the area. Target will notice the chamber is spent.]

Ronan bolted. His body, honed by ten levels of refinement, devoured the ground beneath him. He ran west, away from the battle’s roar, aiming for the twisted, maze like ruins of the old Upper West Side.

Twenty minutes later, his lungs burned. The park was just a dark line behind him. He ducked into the hollowed shell of a bookstore and collapsed behind a toppled shelf.

He ripped open the pouch. Five silver wrapped bars. Heavy. He tore one free and shoved it into his mouth. Nuts and honey. Warmth spread through him, fatigue melting almost instantly.

“Yeah… that’s better,” he muttered, chewing fast.

[Item: Aura Infused Nutrient Bar (Mid Grade). Good for Body Refining stages.)

He leaned back against the shelf. Safe. For now. He let out a shaky breath of relief.

Then a shrill warning blasted in his head.

[ALERT: Host Mandate Inactive.]

[Current Realm: Skin Refining, Level 10.]

[Deviation from primary objective detected.]

[Penalty protocol: Activating.]

White-hot pain tore through the center of his chest. Not physical, not exactly, but deeper, like his life force was being pinched by fire. He gasped, doubled over, and the half eaten bar fell from his fingers.

“Ugh.. what the hell?!” he groaned, clutching his chest.

[Warning: No cultivation progress for 47 minutes. Host is stagnating.]

[Penalty: Spiritual Flux. Will worsen until cultivation resumes.]

Pain shot through him again, sharp and burning, like his soul itself was being crammed into a vice. Ronan understood instantly, the system wasn’t just a guide. It was a cruel taskmaster. Stop moving forward, and it would make him suffer literally.

[Directive: Find temporary safe spot. Begin Skin Refining, Level 11. Time limit: 1 hour.]

Tears stung his eyes, not from weakness, but from pure frustration. He couldn’t rest. He couldn’t plan. He couldn’t hide. If he paused, the system would force him to flare, to shine, to keep climbing.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up. He needed a place to cultivate. Now. Somewhere unseen.

The streets were chaos. The Tide had spread farther; distant screams and explosions echoed from downtown. He needed a hole. A basement. Anything.

Then he saw it across the street: a pre Revival bank, its vault door hanging off one hinge, probably looted years ago. A metal vault. It was almost ironic, a cage for himself, to let the monster inside grow.

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, limping across the street. “Safe… for a little while, at least.”

Rubble crunched under Ronan’s feet as he crossed the street. Then a shadow fell over him.

Not from smoke.

From above.

He looked up.

There, silhouetted against the orange, smoky sky, stood Kaelen Obsidian. Effortless, balanced on a jagged girder twenty stories high. He wasn’t looking at Ronan, his eyes were on his hand, where a small orb of swirling dark and earth toned energy floated, spinning slowly. A scanner. A mapping tool.

Kaelen’s head turned, sweeping the street below. His gaze flicked past Ronan’s hiding spot by the bookstore, then locked on Ronan, right in the open, frozen.

The amused smile was gone. Replaced by ice cold fury.

He lifted his hand. The orb vanished. Then his voice hit, amplified by Aura, booming like a punch through the ruins, shaking dust from the walls.

“You lying little rat!” Kaelen roared, his obsidian eyes glowing faintly. “The formation’s dry. Dead as stone. And the only leftover energy down there… leads straight to you.”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that carried perfectly across the street. “Don’t think you can hide, boy. I see everything.”

“You didn’t just use the formation, did you?” Kaelen said calmly. “You ate it. You swallowed something that belonged to my Family.”

He stepped off the girder.

He didn’t fall.

He drifted down, slow and controlled, like gravity was taking orders from him. He touched the street without a sound, fifty feet away, right in front of the bank vault, cutting off Ronan’s escape.

Kaelen met his eyes, voice quiet now. Deadly.

“Now you’re going to tell me exactly what you took from us,” he said. “Or I’ll pull the answer out of you, one layer of that newly hardened skin at a time.”