The scent of steel and sweat hung in the air, thick as the midday sun hovered over Lorian Vale. Kael moved silently through the narrow streets behind the Red Warden's compound, his robe still marked by soot and torn threads from his recent training. His eyes, however, were bright—calculating, alive.
Arien walked beside him, arms crossed, brows knit in thought. "You know," he murmured, "most cultivators take weeks to recover from the Forge Trials. You… barely slept."
Kael gave a half-smile. "I don't have the luxury of time. Sera's tournament isn't just a challenge—it's an invitation to a battlefield. If I walk in unprepared, I'll be erased before I get to show anything."
"You're already strong," Arien said. "You've faced elemental trials. Fused fire and soul. That's more than most cultivators ever dare."
"That's strength," Kael replied, "not strategy. What I need now is both."
They turned into a quiet garden nestled behind the Veylan estate, where Sera Veylan was already waiting. Her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of her curved blade, crimson robe catching glints of sunlight through cherry leaves.
"You're early," she noted, eyeing Kael's approach. "Didn't think you'd show so soon after what the Forge put you through."
Kael met her gaze with a calm nod. "Your tournament draws cultivators from all Orders. That means I need to learn more about the world I'm about to step into."
Sera tilted her head, lips curling slightly. "So you're finally asking questions. Good."
She gestured toward a shaded pavilion. "Sit. There's much to understand if you plan to survive what's coming."
Inside the pavilion, warm tea was poured. Kael didn't drink. He listened.
"The cultivation world," Sera began, "is split not just by strength, but by origin. Our continent, Aetherith, is ruled by five dominant Sects and several Great Clans. They're not merely places of learning—they're empires."
She waved her fingers, and a shimmering illusion of the continent took form over the tea table. Mountains, rivers, cities. Then, glowing symbols marked five major regions.
"The Five Pillars of Power," she continued. "You've already guessed two."
Kael nodded. "The Veylan House, and the Sky Orders."
"Correct. Veylan is a noble clan, old and influential—but we're small compared to the true sects. The Lower Sky Orders are fragments of the greater Sky Ascendant Sect, based in the Northern Reach. Their roots go deep into the heavens."
She pointed to the east. "To the south is the Verdant Vein Sect—nature cultivators. Masters of healing, poisons, and beastbinding. They rarely involve themselves in politics… unless provoked."
A green sigil flared, twisting like vines.
"Further west, across the salt dunes, is the Crimson Dagger Sect. Assassins. Shadow cultivators. Their members rarely speak openly. If one enters your life, it's usually because they plan to end it."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Charming."
Sera smirked. "And to the far northeast lies the most feared—The Temple of Hollow Flame. Their cultivation burns the soul itself. They believe true strength comes from severing all earthly bonds."
Arien shifted uncomfortably. "Sounds… extreme."
"It is," Sera agreed. "But they produce monsters. Cultivators with no fear of death. Some say they conquered death itself."
Kael leaned forward, eyes sharp. "And where does the Forge of Ashveil stand in all this?"
Sera hesitated. "Ashveil Hollow was once considered a holy site, not a power. Until it was abandoned. Now… it's a legend. No sect claims it."
"And no one dares to rebuild it," Kael muttered. "Because it wasn't meant to belong to them."
Sera looked at him, thoughtful. "Perhaps it's meant to belong to you."
They spoke for hours. Politics, territory, sect alliances. Kael soaked in every word, already arranging possibilities in his mind. Not just for the tournament—but beyond.
When they rose to leave, Sera gave him a final warning. "There will be those at the tournament who won't care who you are or what you've done. They'll strike to kill. Especially if they sense something… unfamiliar."
Kael smiled faintly. "Then let them come. I'll have something prepared for them too."
Later that evening, Kael returned to the small room he'd been given in the compound. Alone, at last, he unrolled a crude scroll and began scribbling symbols with swift, practiced strokes. Diagrams of qi pathways, annotations of elemental harmonies, even notes on body cultivation angles.
But the center of the scroll held only one thing: a circle. In its center, a flame.The Ember Path.
He whispered to himself, "They think the trial made me stronger. But the truth is, it showed me the first spark of what I could become."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"I'll need allies. I'll need distractions. I'll need the crowd to watch my right hand while the left burns their foundation."
Plan A was simple: win the tournament.Plan B: sow disruption among the sect scouts and draw attention to the flaws in their systems.If neither worked, he had Plan C—unleash the fusion of his cultivation method mid-battle. Let them see something they couldn't explain… and couldn't ignore.
Kael folded the scroll, tied it shut, and stood.
"Let them try to control me," he murmured, "and they'll find the fire they tried to harness burns from within."
Meanwhile, in a far-off chamber beneath the city, masked cultivators gathered in silence. A single elder stood at their head, voice like wind passing through dry reeds.
"The Ash-blooded boy has passed the forge. He steps toward the tournament."
A hooded figure stepped forward. "Shall I eliminate him before the others notice?"
"No," the elder rasped. "Let the tournament be the stage. Let the Orders see. Let the boy expose himself… and if he survives, we will know if he truly carries the spark."
They bowed and vanished into the shadows.
The world had begun to watch Kael.But Kael was already watching back.