Forged in Blood

A slow grin spread across Quinlan's face. Not the smug one he wore to provoke. Not the dark smirk of his usual edge.

This was broader. Hungrier. A grin born of fire finally given permission to burn at long last.

He nodded once toward the old man. "Then I'll be ready."

…

That night, beneath the star-dusted sky, Quinlan sat with Feng Jiai curled up in his arms, huffing and puffing like a kitten who'd fought off a dozen wolves.

He'd considered building a shack for himself. Something simple, something solid. But he hadn't gotten around to it. Maybe he never would. The breeze was crisp, the stars unclouded, and the earth held a sort of grounding presence that a roof could never offer. Better to put his time into cultivating and training, he thought. As long as he enjoyed sleeping under the naked sky, he saw no reason to divert his energies away from more important matters.