Chapter 10 - Curiosity

The next day, Belar's curiosity sharpened into resolve. Suspicion was a quiet poison, but one he knew how to wield. If the hooded alchemist wouldn't reveal themselves, then the next best path was to untangle the threads around De.

He began his subtle investigation at dawn. The market square was waking, merchants setting up their stalls with half-lidded eyes and groggy movements. Belar didn't rush. He never did. His steps were slow, purposeful, giving him time to observe without seeming like he was watching.

De's routine, as it turned out, was surprisingly consistent—almost too much so.

Morning found him at the forge, hammering metal with a precision that spoke of both experience and control. Belar positioned himself at a distance, feigning interest in a nearby stall. The rhythmic clang of steel against steel rang out, a steady beat that seemed to mirror De's demeanour—calm, unyielding, and methodical. He didn't waste movement, didn't pause unnecessarily. Each strike was a calculated effort, reinforcing his body as much as shaping the weapon beneath his hand.

Belar's gaze lingered not just on the hammer but on De himself. His sleeves, though rolled up, revealed more than just muscle honed from labor—they showed control over his breathing, a telltale sign of someone undergoing body tempering. The faint pulse of qi at each movement, the way his stance never faltered—these were not the habits of a simple blacksmith's apprentice.

But it was the subtleties that gnawed at Belar the most.

There was a moment—a brief flicker—when De adjusted the forge's flames with a twist of his wrist, and Belar could have sworn he felt a ripple of qi merge with the heat. Too precise to be instinctual, too smooth to be untrained. It sent a chill through Belar's spine. Was De using his cultivation in the forge, blending the physical and the spiritual so seamlessly that only someone with a keen eye would notice?

At midday, De left the forge and retreated into the forest beyond the village's edge.

Belar followed, keeping his distance, his steps light against the leaf-strewn ground. The woods were quiet, save for the occasional chirp of a bird or rustle of distant prey. De-Reece, however, moved with an ease that suggested familiarity. He didn't stumble, didn't hesitate—his path was deliberate.

When they reached a small clearing, Belar watched from the shadows as De began a series of fluid motions. Training forms. Each movement sharpened the air, a blend of martial techniques and qi circulation. The intensity grew as De moved from one form to the next, Solar—a spiritual beast disguised in feline form—silently mirroring him like a shadow.

What struck Belar the most wasn't the forms themselves but the harmony. It was as though De and the creature were linked, moving with an unspoken understanding. A spiritual beast responding so naturally, so obediently—this was rare.

But Belar dared not move closer.

There was a moment when Solar's ears twitched, and his gaze flickered sharply to the very thicket where Belar crouched. A cold sweat prickled along Belar's neck. For a brief second, he feared the creature had seen through his concealment. He dared not breathe, muscles coiled tight, ready to slip further into the brush if needed. A spiritual beast of that caliber—if it decided to lash out—could expose him in an instant.

Belar's fear wasn't just of being discovered—it was of what that discovery might mean. If De was bonded to such a creature, it hinted at an uncommon level of control, even power. And if Solar recognized Belar from his prior alchemical dealings, it could ruin his subtle pursuit.

By evening, De returned to the village, purchasing herbs once more from the same vendor at the market—nothing too rare, but Belar noticed how the young man's fingers lingered over certain selections just a second too long. An alchemist's eye, no doubt.

Belar didn't approach this time. He didn't need to.

Instead, he let the weight of his suspicions settle. De was no ordinary villager. His precise routine, his control over qi, his silent connection to a spiritual beast, and his pointed interest in alchemy—it all formed a pattern.

And Belar was going to unravel it, thread by thread.

Kalia's curiosity had always been a sharp blade—careful, deliberate, and dangerous if wielded too quickly. Yet, for the first time, she wondered if her relentless need to uncover the truth might cut both ways. What if De's secrets were more than she could handle? What if exposing him brought consequences not just for herself, but for the village? But De was a riddle she couldn't put down, a thread she kept tugging at despite her better judgment.—careful, deliberate, and dangerous if wielded too quickly. But De was a riddle she couldn't put down, a thread she kept tugging at despite her better judgment.

It started with small things—fleeting observations that built upon each other like stones in a wall. She noticed how De's movements were too fluid for a simple blacksmith's apprentice, how his balance never faltered, and how his strikes at the forge mirrored the precision of martial forms. The way his muscles shifted, the subtle control over his breath—it was all too disciplined, too refined.

The hooded alchemist had sent a ripple through the village, and though no one dared say it outright, a sense of restless intrigue now brewed among the young cultivators. Kalia heard whispers when she walked through the market and saw the way hopeful eyes scanned the stalls, waiting for the mysterious figure to reappear. Some spoke of seeking out the alchemist, hoping to gain an edge for the upcoming sect selection. Others speculated about the alchemist's identity—was it an elder testing them? A rogue cultivator? An outsider?

Kalia didn't waste time with speculation. She focused on De.

She had started watching him more closely—first, at the forge, her presence masked by an idle conversation with the smith or casual browsing. But she saw more than just steel being shaped. She saw a man who, with each strike of the hammer, seemed to temper not just the blade, but himself. There was an underlying rhythm to it all, like a martial form disguised as labour. And sometimes, just sometimes, she thought she caught a faint flicker of something more—an almost imperceptible pulse of qi, merging with the heat of the flames.

One afternoon, she followed him—not too closely, but not far enough to lose sight—when he left the forge and headed for the forest's edge. She moved with trained steps, her own body tempered by years of preparation for the sect trials. De didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps he did and simply didn't care.

Kalia hid herself behind a thick oak as De entered a small clearing. She watched as he began a series of training forms, each movement flowing into the next like water—graceful yet fierce. But what unsettled her most was the cat-like creature at his side.

Solar.

She had seen the beast with De before, but only in passing—always small, always draped lazily over his shoulder like an ordinary pet. But here, in this quiet clearing, Solar moved in perfect tandem with De. Each shift of the creature's lithe body mirrored De's strikes and footwork, as though the two shared an unspoken connection.

Kalia's pulse quickened. A spiritual beast wasn't just a rare companion—it was a mark of power. Bonding with such a creature required not just strength, but a certain level of cultivation.

Her grip on the bark of the oak tightened, a mix of fear and exhilaration coiling within her. The fear of what she might uncover, the exhilaration of stepping closer to a truth that felt both forbidden and irresistible.

"Just who are you, De?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She didn't dare move closer. Not with Solar's ears twitching at the faintest sound, not with De's sharp gaze scanning the trees every so often. She stayed hidden, heart pounding like a drum, watching the strange dance between man and beast.

When De finally left the clearing and returned to the village, Kalia remained for a long while, her thoughts a tangled knot.

De wasn't just a blacksmith's apprentice. And if he wasn't the hooded alchemist himself, then he was something equally dangerous.

And Kalia intended to find out exactly what.

Belar's thoughts simmered like a slow-boiling cauldron. The hooded alchemist's sudden appearance gnawed at him—not just for the disruption it caused, but for the threat it implied. Belar had spent years building his modest reputation, a steady if unremarkable rise as the village's go-to alchemist. This stranger, however, had shaken the fragile balance. Was it fear of being outshined? Perhaps. The idea that someone younger, more skilled, and shrouded in mystery could overshadow him left an uneasy weight in his chest. But there was also a sliver of opportunity—if he could unmask this person, perhaps even steal a glimpse of their techniques, it might push him further along the path he'd long struggled to ascend. A quiet war raged within him: fear and ambition, both simmering under the surface. The more he observed De, the clearer the threads of suspicion wove together, but the answers still eluded him. Watching from a distance could only reveal so much. If he was going to uncover the truth, he needed to act.

He decided to shift his approach.

The morning mist still clung to the village as Belar made his way to the market square. His usual nonchalance was replaced with a calculated calm, his every step measured. Today, he wouldn't skulk in the shadows or lurk at a distance. No—today, he would tighten the noose.

He found De at the forge, as always. The steady rhythm of the hammer striking metal filled the air, but Belar's focus wasn't on the blade forming beneath De's hands—it was on the subtle flex of his movements. The quiet control over his breathing. The flicker of qi so faint that only someone with a trained eye would catch it.

Belar approached with a casual smile. "Another fine piece in the works, De?"

De didn't pause, his gaze fixed on the glowing metal. "Just doing my job."

The simplicity of the response grated at Belar. It was too smooth, too composed—like a man who knew exactly how much to say and no more.

Belar leaned against the edge of a wooden post, feigning interest in the half-formed blade. "I hear the sect selection is drawing near. A lot of the younger cultivators are restless. Eager for any edge they can get."

De's hammer paused for the briefest of moments—a fraction of a heartbeat—before continuing its steady rhythm.

Belar didn't miss it.

He pressed on, voice light but probing. "Strange, though. Ever since that hooded alchemist appeared, the village has been abuzz. People whisper about pills, about hidden strength. You ever catch wind of that?"

De finally set the hammer down, the blade still glowing softly on the anvil. His expression was unreadable—calm, almost indifferent—but Belar saw the sharpness behind those eyes.

"I mind my own business," De said evenly. "Rumours are just that—rumours."

A perfectly crafted answer, Belar mused. Not a denial, but not an admission either.

But the tension was there, humming just beneath the surface. Belar felt it—like standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure whether the wind would push him forward or back.

His fingers drifted to the small pouch at his side, filled with carefully selected herbs. He drew one out, a slender stalk with pale blue petals—moonshade. A rare but potent ingredient often used in qi-enhancing pills.

He twirled it between his fingers, watching De's reaction. "Funny thing—I found this the other day. Expensive for someone to just leave lying around. Only an alchemist would recognize its value."

De's gaze flicked to the herb, but his expression remained impassive. "Looks like a weed to me."

Belar chuckled softly, though a twinge of frustration gnawed at him. "Maybe so."

But the game was on.

Belar knew he couldn't push too hard—not yet. The memory of Solar's unblinking, almost sentient gaze haunted him. There was something unnerving about the creature, not just its spiritual presence but the way it seemed to understand more than a mere beast should. Belar feared that if he lurked too close, Solar might sense his intent—might mark him as a threat. It was a risk he wasn't ready to take, not when the stakes were still so uncertain. yet. Solar wasn't at the forge now, but the memory of the spiritual beast's watchful gaze still haunted him. Getting too close to De's secrets risked drawing the creature's attention, and that was a danger Belar wasn't ready to face. The thought of those intelligent, predatory eyes sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

Instead, he stepped back, letting the conversation hang in the air like a blade suspended mid-swing.

"Well," Belar said, his smile returning. "I suppose we'll all find out the truth soon enough—at the sect trials."

He turned to leave, but his mind spun like a storm.

Belar considered the risks—what would happen if he voiced his suspicions? Would Elder Faen take him seriously, or would he dismiss it as paranoia? After all, De was just a blacksmith's apprentice, wasn't he? Yet, there was something about him—too calm, too precise. If De wasn't the hooded alchemist, then he was connected to him somehow. But what if Belar was wrong? Accusing De without proof could make him look like a fool, or worse, it could draw unwanted attention to his schemes. And then there was Solar. That beast wasn't normal—there was an intelligence in its gaze that made Belar's skin crawl. The idea of getting too close to De's training only to find Solar's fangs at his throat was enough to make him hesitate. No, he had to tread carefully. For now, he would watch and wait. The game was delicate, and one wrong move could shatter everything.

The air in the village was shifting. It started with whispers—first faint, like a distant wind, then louder, until they rippled through the streets like an undercurrent of unspoken tension. The sect selection trials were no longer a distant event—they loomed on the horizon, a storm inching closer with each passing day.

For the young cultivators, it was both an opportunity and a threat. The trials were not merely a test of strength—they were a gateway. To win a token meant a chance to enter the wider world of cultivation, to break free from the quiet constraints of village life. To lose meant remaining behind, watching others ascend while you stood still.

Belar felt it too—the mounting pressure gnawing at his already fraying nerves. He noticed how the younger cultivators trained with renewed fervour, pushing their bodies to the brink. They sparred longer, ran faster, and talked louder about the mysterious hooded alchemist. Every mention of the figure twisted like a thorn in Belar's side.

What unsettled him most was how the hooded alchemist had become more than a rumor—he was a symbol. A shadowy presence that promised power, a whispered secret that tantalized the hopeful. The villagers' obsession with him only deepened Belar's unease.

Kalia seemed especially affected. Belar often caught her lingering around the forge, her gaze flicking too often toward De. She never asked direct questions, but her presence spoke volumes. She was searching for something—an answer, a crack in De's ever-composed facade.

Belar watched her from a distance, weighing her intent. Was she suspicious of De, or was it mere curiosity? Kalia was no fool—her instincts were sharp, and her cultivation was formidable for her age. But there was something else in her watchful glances, something Belar couldn't quite place.

And then there was Joran. Unlike Kalia, Joran's reaction to the upcoming trials was brash and predictable. He trained like a man possessed—his strikes at the training grounds echoed through the village, a relentless symphony of violence. But Belar noticed the way Joran's jaw tightened whenever someone mentioned the hooded alchemist. The way his fingers twitched when a fellow cultivator spoke of "new methods" and "secret pills."

Joran's strength was undeniable, but there was an edge of desperation creeping into his aura.

In the midst of it all stood De.

The blacksmith's apprentice remained an enigma. Belar observed him closely—too closely, perhaps—but De never wavered. He worked the forge with quiet precision, trained in the afternoons with almost clinical efficiency, and vanished into the night like smoke.

The forge itself seemed to pulse with its own rhythm. Belar watched the way De swung the hammer—not just as a tool to shape metal, but as a method to temper himself. Every strike was purposeful, a balance of force and control, as if the act of forging blades was forging his own body in return.

It infuriated Belar. De's movements were too smooth, too calculated. He was no mere blacksmith.

Yet, for all his watching, Belar couldn't piece the puzzle together. His suspicions wavered, unable to fully pin De as the hooded alchemist but unable to dismiss the notion either. It was maddening.

Elder Faen's influence loomed over the village like a silent sentinel. Though the elder hadn't spoken publicly about the trials, Belar knew the man was watching. There were whispers that Elder Faen had discreetly posted observers around the market square—seeking any clue about the hooded alchemist's identity.

And Belar couldn't shake the feeling that the noose was slowly tightening.

The trials were coming.

And with them, the promise of revelation or ruin.

The village square buzzed with a rare intensity, the usual market chatter drowned beneath the weight of a new undercurrent—anticipation. A lean figure stood near the fountain, arms crossed, face impassive but eyes sharper than a blade's edge. Kalia.

She had heard the news before the formal announcement even echoed through the village: the overseer from the sect would be arriving within days. The sect trials were no longer a distant notion, but an approaching storm, and with it came the thinly-veiled desperation of every young cultivator in the village.

Kalia watched the gathered crowd with a practiced calm, but inwardly, a spark of unease flickered. The overseer—the one who would judge their worth, grant tokens, and decide whose path would ascend beyond this backwater village—was not a figure to be taken lightly. It was said that some overseers were impartial, weighing only raw talent and promise, while others… others could be swayed by politics, bribes, or influence.

Her gaze shifted, seeking familiar faces among the growing crowd. Joran stood near a group of young cultivators, his chest puffed out a little more than usual, his voice louder, each word crafted to remind those around him of his strength. She could hear him boasting about the hours he'd spent sparring, the beasts he'd faced, the progress he'd made in opening his fifth node—this one in his hand rather than the spleen, a choice he emphasized was for quicker strikes and faster channeling of qi. Typical.

But her mind wandered past Joran and settled on a more enigmatic figure. De.

He was there, near the forge as always, speaking quietly with his master. His expression remained the same—calm, detached, unbothered by the murmurs rippling through the village. Kalia's eyes narrowed slightly.

She couldn't shake the gnawing curiosity that had taken root ever since the hooded alchemist first appeared. It was too much of a coincidence—De's sudden rise in skill, the subtle strength he carried, the way he never seemed surprised by anything. And yet, no one else seemed to connect the two.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger strapped to her belt. It wasn't just suspicion anymore. It was a need—a need to understand who De truly was and whether he was a rival she had to surpass, or an ally she might need to keep close. She recalled the fleeting glimpses she'd caught of him at the forge—the rhythmic clanging of the hammer against metal, the subtle way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, taut and defined from hours of relentless work. And then there were those dark, unkempt locks, a wild contrast to his otherwise composed demeanor. The sight had been oddly captivating—dangerously so. She pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the questions that still gnawed at her.

The village head, Elder Faen, finally stepped forward, his voice carrying over the whispers. "The overseer from the Celestial Rain Sect will arrive in three days. Prepare yourselves. The trials will begin the morning after."

A ripple ran through the crowd—some murmured excitedly, others exchanged nervous glances. For Kalia, it was a call to arms.

Her path to the sect was no longer just a goal—it was a battle, and every rival, every unknown factor, needed to be accounted for.

Including De.

The last three days had been a quiet storm.

Solar watched the village from the secluded edge of the forest, a predator wrapped in the guise of a spirit beast. The small lion-like creature lay coiled beneath a thick patch of roots, its fur blending seamlessly with the undergrowth, its three tails tucked neatly against its side. Though it appeared at rest, its violet eyes remained sharp, glowing faintly in the dimness.

The village buzzed with a restless energy, a shifting undercurrent Solar had noticed long before the official announcement of the overseer's arrival. Humans were always the same—they wore their emotions so plainly, their ambitions and fears leaking from every word, every movement. The young ones especially.

For the last few days, Solar had divided her attention between De and the village, an unspoken duty she had taken upon herself ever since the two of them arrived here. While De worked in the forge during the mornings, hammering steel with a controlled, deliberate strength, Solar watched. Each swing of the hammer, each bead of sweat trailing down his brow—none of it was wasted. Every motion served a purpose, not just in crafting weapons but in honing De's own body, reinforcing his muscles and qi pathways with the same relentless precision.

The afternoons were more fluid. De trained quietly in the shaded outskirts of the village, where the trees grew thick and the prying eyes of villagers rarely wandered. Solar had perched herself nearby, always keeping a distance. It was a necessary precaution. She couldn't afford to draw too much attention—especially not with the likes of Belar lurking about.

The alchemist.

Solar's fur bristled at the memory of the man. Belar had begun to hover more often, his sharp gaze drifting far too frequently toward De. Though he hadn't made any open accusations, his curiosity was growing, and Solar didn't like it. More than once, the spirit beast had caught Belar skulking near the edge of De's training grounds, his posture stiff with hesitation.

There was fear there. A subtle, creeping fear.

Solar could smell it on him—like stale smoke and bitter herbs. Belar wasn't just cautious; he was afraid of getting too close, afraid of drawing attention from Solar herself. Good. Let him be afraid. It meant he couldn't watch De too closely, couldn't piece together the truths hidden beneath the surface.

But the danger wasn't gone.

And now, with the overseer's imminent arrival, the risk was greater than ever. Solar could sense it in the village's pulse—how the young cultivators bristled with anticipation. They were all looking for an edge, for anything that would give them a chance at earning a token for the sect trials.

Kalia was the most obvious.

Over the past three days, Solar had noted her growing presence. She seemed to linger wherever De was—hovering at the forge, passing by his training grounds under the pretence of a casual stroll, even standing in the crowd with a fierce intensity when Elder Faen had announced the overseer's arrival.

There was curiosity in her, but something else too.

A spark of admiration, perhaps.

Solar's lips curled in a silent, fox-like grin. The girl had noticed more than De likely realized—the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt, the quiet grace with which he worked the forge, and those unruly dark locks that fell into his eyes, a wild contrast to his otherwise calm exterior.

She was drawn to him, though whether it was as a rival or something more, Solar couldn't quite tell.

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was De's rise. The sect selection loomed closer, and Solar knew that every moment counted. The more eyes that turned toward De—whether out of suspicion, admiration, or fear—the more dangerous their situation became.

And as the sun dipped lower with each passing day, Solar remained at the edge of the forest, ever watchful, ever ready.

It was more than duty—it was something far deeper.

For Solar wasn't just De's companion. She was bound to him, not by a mere contract or taming, but by something older and far more complex. Their bond was a silent thread of shared purpose and unspoken loyalty. When De meditated, Solar often did too, their qi resonating in a way that felt almost…natural. It was as though their souls recognized each other, long before either of them had spoken a word. And in those moments, when the flow of energy between them settled into a quiet harmony, Solar felt a sense of completion—like a lock clicking into place, even if the key had long been lost.

And there was another truth—one that Solar kept hidden, even from De.

She was no ordinary spirit beast.

She knew she was a girl, not that she thought he'd even bothered to think about it.

A being who had long forgotten her origins, her reasons hidden as carefully as the secrets buried within De's quiet strength. Yet, beneath the fur, the claws, and the glowing violet eyes, there were faint echoes of something more—a mind that sometimes wandered to strange places, recalling shapes and movements that didn't belong to a creature of the forest. It was an ache without form, a quiet pull toward something forgotten. When De spoke, there were moments—brief, fleeting—where Solar felt a strange urge to answer with more than a growl, as if another kind of voice, long silent, hovered just out of reach. It was a hollow sensation, an instinct buried so deep it felt like a dream half-remembered. The why of it remained shrouded, a mystery even to her.

And though De didn't know it yet, Solar's watchful gaze wasn't just that of a guardian spirit—it was something far more personal.

The room was dimly lit by a single flickering candle, its flame dancing with every faint draft that crept through the old wooden shutters. The night outside was quiet, but not silent. A distant howl echoed from the forest's edge, and the steady rustle of leaves whispered of a coming storm.

De sat cross-legged on the floor, his bare upper body slick with a thin sheen of sweat. The day's work at the forge had been unforgiving—each swing of the hammer, each spark that kissed his skin was another step forward. Another inch closer to strength. His muscles ached in a dull, satisfying way, his open nodes thrumming faintly within him like distant drums—though he kept that truth hidden, a secret even from the watchful eyes of the village.

His breathing was slow, measured. Each inhale drew the thin threads of qi from the air, and each exhale refined it, guiding the energy along the pathways of his meridians. The overseer's arrival tomorrow loomed over him like a silent weight, yet De's mind remained still.

Mostly.

A soft shift of movement broke the quiet.

Solar.

She lay curled near the edge of his bed, her small fox-like form resting, yet never fully at ease. Her three violet-tipped tails flicked softly behind her, and her glowing eyes remained open, half-lidded but watchful. Always watchful.

Their bond had deepened in ways De couldn't quite explain. It wasn't a taming contract—there was no master-servant dynamic between them. If anything, it was more of a mutual understanding, an unspoken agreement that their fates were bound together. He never questioned why Solar chose to stay by his side. It felt… natural, as though their connection had always existed, even if the how and why remained a mystery.

But tonight, something was different.

Solar's gaze was intense, more so than usual. It burned through the low candlelight, her tails swishing in an almost restless rhythm. De noticed the slight prickle of qi radiating from her—the smallest ripple, but there nonetheless.

"What's gotten into you?" De muttered, his voice low, rough from the forge's heat and the hours of silent training.

Solar didn't answer, of course. She never did. But her head tilted ever so slightly, a spark of intelligence in her eyes that made De wonder—not for the first time—how much she truly understood.

Then, without warning, Solar rose to her feet and padded silently across the room. She stopped directly in front of De, her nose just a breath away from his bare hand resting on his knee. There was a strange intensity in the way she stared at it—at him. Her tails flared briefly, the violet tips glowing with a soft pulse. Without hesitation, her head dipped, and in one swift motion, she bit down—sharp enough to pierce the skin but not enough to maim. It was quick, controlled. A deliberate act, not one of instinct.

A flicker of realization crept into De's mind.

"...A blood bond?"

It wasn't unheard of. Certain spirit beasts, when bound by loyalty or necessity, could form a blood bond with their human counterpart. It wasn't like a slave contract—there was no master or servant. Instead, it was a pact of equals, a mingling of essence that tied their fates together even more closely. It would deepen their connection—strengthen their qi resonance.

But it came with risks.

A blood bond forged poorly could leave both parties vulnerable, their life forces entangled in ways neither could control. If one fell, the other would feel the echo of that pain. It was a gamble—but one Solar seemed determined to take.

De's jaw tightened.

"You're sure?" he asked softly, though he wasn't sure why he expected a verbal answer.

Solar's response came in the form of a single step forward, pressing her small paw lightly against the back of his hand. The touch was warm—too warm for a simple beast—and the faint hum of qi crackled between them like static.

De let out a slow breath.

He unsheathed a small, wickedly sharp dagger from his belt and, without hesitation, sliced a thin line across his palm. Blood welled up, dark and rich, and the moment the first drop hit the wooden floor, Solar extended one of her claws and did the same—dragging a delicate, precise cut along her foreleg.

There was a moment of stillness.

Then, De pressed his bleeding hand against Solar's wound.

The reaction was instant.

A pulse of qi exploded between them, not violent but fierce—like a current of energy connecting two circuits. De felt it immediately—the strange tug of Solar's essence, wild and untamed yet oddly familiar. The energy spiraled through his meridians, lighting up his open nodes with a sudden, sharp heat.

Solar's violet eyes flared, and for the briefest of moments, De thought he saw something deeper behind them—a spark of something ancient, something more than a spirit beast.

And then it was over.

The qi settled, their blood mingled, and the bond clicked into place.

A subtle thread now linked them—not chains of ownership, but a connection built on trust and shared purpose. It wasn't overwhelming, but De could feel Solar now—not just as a presence in the room but as a flicker of qi that pulsed in time with his own.

He wiped his hand clean, watching Solar lick her wound once before settling back onto the floor, her gaze still burning into him.

"Well," De muttered, his voice rougher now. "That's one way to prepare for tomorrow."

Solar's tails flicked, and though no words were spoken, De couldn't shake the feeling that she was… amused.

The overseer would arrive in mere hours.

And whatever came next, they would face it together.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew-drenched grass and the smoky remnants of last night's dying fires. Dawn had barely broken, yet the village already buzzed with an uneasy energy, a subtle undercurrent of anticipation rippling through its heart. Today was the day.

The overseer was coming.

De stood at the edge of his small room, the wooden floor cool against his bare feet. His hand still tingled from the blood bond, the wound a thin, unhealed line he had deliberately left untouched by any healing pills—a physical reminder of the pact they had made. Solar lay coiled at the foot of his bed, her three tails gently flicking back and forth, their violet tips pulsing faintly in time with his own breath.

The bond between them wasn't overwhelming—but it was there. A quiet thread that hummed just beneath his consciousness, not a voice but a presence. A spark of heat when she stirred, a whisper of qi when she shifted positions. It was more than De had expected, yet less than he feared. Manageable. For now.

He dressed in simple, worn robes, the fabric rough but sturdy, black with red dragons on the hems and tied his long hair back with a leather cord. His mind, though calm on the surface, was a storm beneath—calculating, planning. This was the first step toward the sect selection. The overseer's arrival would mark the beginning of the trials that would decide who among them had the potential to step beyond this village and onto a path of true cultivation.

And De wasn't about to let that slip away.

The village square was already beginning to fill when he arrived, his steps silent as he wove through the crowd. Familiar faces greeted him with brief nods—apprentices from the forge, traders from the market—but none lingered. All eyes were fixed on the far end of the square where a simple wooden platform had been erected, a symbol of the authority soon to stand upon it.

He felt her before he saw her.

Kalia.

She was leaning against a tree at the edge of the square, arms crossed, her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulder. Sharp-eyed and ever watchful, Kalia's gaze swept the crowd, though it seemed to pause ever so slightly when it found him. De didn't react, keeping his expression neutral. Their interactions had grown more frequent these past days—her presence a silent echo wherever he went—but he neither welcomed nor rejected her scrutiny. It was simply… there.

And then there was Joran.

The other young man stood near the front, his broad frame stiff with anticipation. His recently opened hand node still throbbed with faint qi, an aura of simmering power surrounding him—though it was raw, unrefined. De noticed the way Joran's jaw clenched, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. There was a hunger in his eyes, a need to prove himself.

But De wondered if Joran knew what strength truly was.

A ripple passed through the crowd.

The overseer had arrived.