Rylan tried to hold the wound closed with both hands. Rain slipped between his fingers. So did his blood.
Above him, the Sterling crest had broken loose from one of its bolts. It tapped against the alley wall whenever the wind rose. He had meant to have it repaired. Even after the servants left, even after he sold the horses, he had thought there would be time for small repairs.
Seraphina had stepped over his legs to reach the gate.
"The keys," she had said.
He remembered asking her why. An absurd question, now that he could see the empty leather case in her companion's hand. The artifacts were gone. His father's seal was gone. She had spent six weeks persuading him that the Jade Clan would hear his petition if he could only assemble the right gifts.
He had opened the vault himself.
"You promised," he had managed.
She had looked impatient rather than ashamed. "And you believed me."
Then the crystal shard, the shock of it entering him, her hand withdrawing before he understood what she had done. He could still feel the pressure of her fingers against his coat.
He wanted to remember something else about her. The afternoon she laughed at his attempt to ride. The smell of the tea she made too strong. Something that would let him believe the woman leaving through the gate had replaced the one he knew.
But she had taken the case without needing to check its contents.
Rylan dragged himself toward the house. One elbow, then the other. His heel caught a loose stone and he nearly fainted. The back door stood open fifteen paces away. Beyond it lay a washroom, clean cloth, a bell rope nobody remained to answer.
He was twenty-one. He had never crossed the first threshold of cultivation. At gatherings, people had found his lack of experience with women funnier than his poverty, and he had learned to laugh before they could see whether it hurt. He had imagined answering them one day with restored wealth, a wife, his family's name spoken properly.
He had not imagined dying within sight of his own door.
The crest tapped the wall again.
He moved his hand forward and could not make his body follow.
* * *
A blue line appeared in the dark.
Rylan tried to breathe. There was no breath to take, no chest to move. Panic arrived before thought. He struggled against something he could not feel until letters spread across the line.
[Soul signature confirmed: Rylan Sterling.]
[Restoration available.]
"Then do it." He could not tell whether he had spoken.
[Binding required: Harem System.]
Another pane opened.
[Primary objective: ascend to godhood.]
[Primary path: cultivation through adult spiritual partnerships.]
He stared at the word godhood. A moment ago he had wanted to reach a washroom.
More information unfolded beneath it: cultivation shared between compatible partners, aptitudes awakened through a bond, rewards for difficult achievements. Desire was part of the method. So were agreement and an actual exchange of energy. A pledge of service did not complete a partnership. Neither did fear.
There would be one available bond at first. Rest and consolidation limited repeated gains. A small initialization reserve would help him begin alone; it would not refill.
He looked for a condition about the Jade Clan. There was none. No explanation of who offered restoration, or what the offerer wanted beyond the impossible objective.
[Accept binding?]
If he could have laughed, he might have. Whoever had arranged this knew exactly how little choice a dead man possessed.
He thought of Seraphina opening his vault. He had accepted uncertainty before, for a smile and the chance of being wanted. This offer at least named its ambition.
He wanted her to learn he was alive. He wanted her to understand what she had failed to kill.
But revenge alone suddenly seemed too small for the pane before him. He had spent his life asking other people to restore something to him: money, standing, affection. If he returned, he would need power that survived another person's refusal.
"I accept."
[Binding complete.]
[Cultivation: Mortal. Adult partners: 0/1.]
Sensation returned as a deep ache in his hands. Something rough lay under his cheek. He could smell damp straw.
Rylan reached toward the pain and found himself breathing.