Chapter 6: Flames of Rivalry

The roaring heat of the Crucible's trial still lingered in Ashen's mind as he stepped out of the massive stone arena. His body was drenched in sweat, his arms trembling with the aftershock of channeling the Forge's power through Emberfang. Yet, his heart swelled with a mixture of relief and cautious pride. He had survived, and he had earned his place within the Radiant Dawn Sect.

Elyndra walked beside him, her expression neutral, though her eyes flicked toward him with a faint hint of curiosity. "You've proven you're not just a lucky village boy," she said, breaking the silence. "But don't think for a moment that the rest of the sect will welcome you with open arms."

Ashen frowned, gripping the hilt of Emberfang tighter. "Why not? I passed the trial."

Elyndra gave him a wry smile. "This sect isn't a family, boy. It's a battlefield. Every disciple here is fighting for their spot, their resources, their future. And you? You just walked in with a power most of them would kill for."

Her words hung heavy in the air as they entered the sect's sprawling inner courtyard. It was alive with activity: disciples sparring in pairs, others meditating under the shade of ancient trees, while a few practiced techniques that sent bursts of light cascading into the sky.

Ashen felt their eyes on him almost immediately. Whispers spread like wildfire, heads turning to watch the newcomer with the glowing blade strapped to his back.

"That's him," someone muttered.

"The one who passed the Crucible on his first try?"

"And with the Infernal Forge, no less," another said.

The weight of their stares made Ashen's skin crawl, but he forced himself to stand tall. He wasn't here to cower—he was here to forge his path, no matter what.

As Elyndra led him through the winding pathways of the sect, a sharp voice cut through the buzz of activity.

"So, this is the new recruit everyone's whispering about."

A tall boy stepped forward, his robes marked with intricate embroidery that signified seniority. His sharp features were framed by neatly tied black hair, and his piercing blue eyes carried an air of disdain. Behind him, a small group of disciples followed, their smirks radiating the same arrogance.

Elyndra sighed under her breath. "And here we go."

The boy stopped in front of Ashen, looking him up and down with barely concealed contempt. "I'm guessing you're the peasant they pulled from the mud to fill some quota. Tell me, did they let you keep the pig you rode in on?"

Laughter rippled through the boy's followers.

Ashen clenched his fists but didn't rise to the bait. "And you are?"

The boy's smirk widened. "Rael Valen, top disciple of the Radiant Dawn Sect's outer circle—and soon to be part of the inner circle, where only the truly gifted belong. You? You're nothing but a curiosity, a footnote."

"Footnotes don't usually pass the Crucible," Ashen said evenly, meeting Rael's gaze without flinching.

Rael's smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of annoyance. "Passing the Crucible doesn't make you special. It makes you barely competent."

"Rael," Elyndra interjected, her tone sharp. "He's earned his place. Leave it."

Rael turned to her, his expression softening into a mockery of politeness. "Elyndra, always playing protector. I suppose even broken tools need someone to hold them together."

Before Ashen could react, Elyndra grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "Ignore him," she muttered. "He's not worth it."

Ashen watched Rael walk away, the smug laughter of his group ringing in his ears. "He seems nice," he said dryly.

Elyndra snorted. "Welcome to the sect, boy. You'll find plenty of people like him—and worse."

Elyndra eventually brought Ashen to the barracks, a long, simple building where the outer-circle disciples resided. The room she assigned him was small but functional, with a wooden bed, a narrow desk, and a single window that overlooked the training grounds.

"This is where you'll be staying," she said. "Get used to it. The outer circle isn't luxurious, but it's where everyone starts. If you want better, you'll have to earn it."

Ashen dropped his pack on the bed, the weight of the day finally catching up with him. "How do I earn it?"

Elyndra leaned against the doorframe, her expression thoughtful. "There are three ways to rise in the sect: train harder than anyone else, prove yourself in combat, or gain the favor of the elders. Most disciples aim for the first two."

Ashen nodded, determination hardening in his chest. "Then I'll do what I have to."

She studied him for a moment before giving a small nod. "Good. You'll need that attitude to survive here."

The next morning, Ashen was up before dawn. The sect was quiet, the first rays of sunlight casting long shadows across the courtyard. He had barely slept, his mind buzzing with everything Elyndra had told him.

He unsheathed Emberfang, the blade catching the morning light as its runes pulsed faintly. The Forge's warmth stirred within him, a steady presence that had become both a comfort and a mystery.

"You guided me through the Crucible," Ashen murmured. "What's next?"

The Forge's voice whispered in his mind, faint but clear. "The fire does not wait. Temper yourself, or be broken."

Ashen gripped the hilt tighter, his resolve solidifying. He began practicing in the courtyard, the sound of Emberfang slicing through the air breaking the morning stillness. His movements were clumsy at first, but the more he swung, the more natural it began to feel, as if the Forge itself was guiding him.

By the time the sect came alive, Ashen was drenched in sweat but moving with a confidence he hadn't felt before.

The peace didn't last.

"Still playing hero, I see," Rael's voice rang out as he approached, his followers trailing behind him like shadows.

Ashen lowered Emberfang, his body tense but composed. "What do you want?"

Rael smirked, drawing his own blade—a sleek, curved sword that gleamed with a faint blue light. "A demonstration. Everyone's talking about your glowing sword and your miraculous survival in the Crucible. Let's see if it's more than just a fancy light show."

Ashen frowned. "You want to spar?"

"No," Rael said, his smirk widening. "I want to humiliate you."

A crowd began to gather, drawn by the tension in the air. Whispers spread as disciples exchanged eager glances, the promise of a fight electrifying the atmosphere.

Elyndra appeared at the edge of the crowd, her expression torn between exasperation and concern. "Ashen, don't—"

"I accept," Ashen said, cutting her off.

The crowd buzzed with excitement as the two opponents faced each other. Rael's smirk deepened, his stance relaxed yet confident.

"First to yield," he said.

"Fine by me," Ashen replied, raising Emberfang.

The fight was fast and brutal. Rael's movements were sharp and precise, his blade flashing like lightning as he pressed Ashen with relentless attacks. But Ashen's instincts, honed by years of forging and the Forge's guidance, kept him on his feet.

He dodged a sweeping strike, Emberfang clashing against Rael's blade in a burst of sparks. The crowd gasped as the runes on Ashen's sword flared, forcing Rael to step back.

"You're better than I thought," Rael admitted, his smirk faltering. "But power like that can only take you so far."

"We'll see," Ashen said, his voice steady.

Rael lunged, his blade glowing with energy, but Ashen was ready. He sidestepped the attack and swung Emberfang in a wide arc, the runes blazing brighter than ever. The force of the strike sent Rael's sword flying from his hand, clattering across the courtyard.

The crowd fell silent, all eyes on Ashen as he held Emberfang to Rael's throat.

"Yield," Ashen said quietly.

Rael glared at him, his face red with anger and humiliation. After a long moment, he muttered, "I yield."

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Ashen lowered his blade, his chest heaving with exertion.

Elyndra approached him as the crowd dispersed, her expression a mix of amusement and approval. "You're making a lot of enemies, boy."

Ashen sheathed Emberfang, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Let them come."