Chapter 11 - Solar

The village hums with quiet tension, a thread of unease weaving through every whispered conversation and stolen glance. From the concealed edge of the forest, Solar watches it unfold, a predator cloaked in the guise of a spirit beast. Nestled beneath a thick tangle of roots, her sleek black fur blends seamlessly into the undergrowth, three tails tucked neatly at her side. Though still, every muscle remains coiled, every breath slow and deliberate. The violet glow of her eyes flickers faintly in the dimness, catching every shift in movement below.

The humans wear their emotions like open wounds. Fear, ambition, desperation—all of it spills freely in the wake of the sect overseer's impending arrival. Solar had sensed the shift long before Elder Faen's formal announcement. The scent of unrest lingers in the air, thick as the damp earth after rain. The young ones are the most volatile, bristling with anticipation, each one searching for an edge that will set them apart.

For days, her focus has been divided—one eye on the village, the other on De. Watching over him has become instinct, a silent duty woven into the fabric of her existence. Each morning, he hones himself at the forge, sweat glistening against sun-bronzed skin, muscles rippling with every precise swing of the hammer. The rhythm is deliberate, a meditation as much as labor. He is not merely shaping steel—he is tempering himself, carving out strength through fire and strain.

The afternoons are different. In the shaded outskirts of the village, where the trees grow thick and the prying eyes of villagers dare not wander, De trains. Solar keeps her distance, ever a shadow at the periphery, a quiet guardian. He moves with a precision that is too fluid, too controlled, for one of his supposed background. Every strike, every shift of weight is refined. Efficient. Calculated.

She is not the only one who has noticed.

Belar lurks. The village alchemist is careful, never straying too close, but his scent lingers—a mix of stale smoke and bitter herbs. He watches De too often, his curiosity sharpening into something more dangerous. The fear is there, subtle but unmistakable. Solar can taste it in the air. Belar hesitates not because he doubts, but because he knows. Knows that stepping too close means drawing her attention. And he should be afraid.

The overseer's arrival has only worsened things. The young cultivators of the village grow restless, hungry for anything that might tip the scales in their favor. Some seek training, others secrets, but they all want the same thing—a place beyond this small, forgotten village.

Kalia is the most persistent.

Solar has seen the girl watching De, lingering in the places he frequents—the forge, the training grounds, even the crowd when Elder Faen spoke. She hovers at the edges, pretending disinterest, but the truth is plain. Her sharp eyes track him with an intensity that betrays her.

Admiration? Suspicion? Perhaps both.

A fox-like grin tugs at Solar's lips. Kalia has noticed more than De likely realizes—the quiet grace beneath the surface, the way his dark, unruly locks fall into his eyes, a stark contrast to the calm control with which he carries himself. A soldier dressed as a blacksmith. A blade hidden in plain sight.

But none of it matters.

Not the girl's curiosity. Not Belar's scheming. Not the whispers in the market.

What matters is the path ahead.

The trials loom closer, and every second counts. The more eyes that turn toward De—whether out of admiration, suspicion, or fear—the greater the risk. And yet, despite the growing storm, he remains steady, unmoved by the shifting tides around him.

That, too, is dangerous.

The sun sinks lower, dragging the village toward restless sleep. Solar remains at the forest's edge, silent and unseen. The duty to watch over De is more than instinct. It is something deeper, something unspoken.

For De is not merely a companion.

He is a tether, a purpose, a bond etched in something older than memory.

When he meditates, she often does too, their qi resonating in quiet harmony, as though they are two halves of something long severed, something searching for its lost whole. And in those moments, when the hum of his energy intertwines with hers, there is a sense of completion. A lock clicking into place, even if the key has long been forgotten.

But there is another truth. One she has never spoken, not even to herself.

Solar is no ordinary spirit beast.

The knowledge sits at the edges of her mind, shrouded in a haze she cannot pierce. Beneath the fur and claws, beneath the predatory instincts and the flicker of violet energy, something else stirs. Something that does not belong to the shape she wears. At times, shadows of another life flicker in the depths of her thoughts—shapes and voices that do not fit within the mind of a beast. When De speaks, there are moments—brief, fleeting—where the urge to answer burns on the tip of a tongue that should not know words.

She does not know why.

And she does not allow herself to dwell on it.

The candlelight flickers in the dim room, its flame dancing with every breath of wind that slips through the wooden shutters. The night outside is not silent—distant howls echo from the forest's edge, rustling leaves whispering of an approaching storm.

De sits cross-legged on the worn wooden floor, bare skin gleaming with the faint sheen of sweat. The day's work at the forge has left its mark, each aching muscle a testament to his progress. The open nodes within him thrum softly, faint drums beneath his skin, but he keeps that truth hidden. Even here, alone in the quiet, secrecy is second nature.

Breath slow. Steady. The inhalation draws in the thin threads of qi, the exhalation refines it, guiding the energy along the meridians. The overseer arrives tomorrow. Another step toward an uncertain future, yet De remains still, unshaken.

Mostly.

A shift in the air.

Solar.

Coiled at the edge of the bed, her small frame barely stirring, but her presence is anything but passive. Three violet-tipped tails flick in restless rhythm, eyes half-lidded yet never truly closed. She is always watching.

The bond between them has deepened, though De cannot name what it is. It is not a taming contract, nor the mere companionship of a wild beast. It is something else—something forged in quiet understanding rather than words. She has chosen to stay, and that is enough.

But tonight, something is different.

The weight of her gaze is heavier, charged with something unreadable. The faintest ripple of qi flares from her, barely perceptible, but there.

"What is it?" De mutters, voice rough from heat and silence.

Solar does not answer. She never does.

But her head tilts, just slightly. And in the flickering candlelight, in the stillness of the room, those violet eyes gleam with something more.

Something waiting.

Something knowing.

Then, without warning, Solar rises to her feet, padding silently across the wooden floor. The soft flick of her three tails stirs the candlelight, shadows stretching as she stops just before De, her nose hovering over the bare hand resting on his knee. A strange intensity sharpens the glow in those violet eyes, something unreadable flickering beneath their surface. Without hesitation, she lowers her head and, in a swift motion, bites down.

A sharp sting lances through De's skin. The bite is controlled—precise. Enough to pierce but not to wound.

The realisation clicks into place almost instantly.

"...A blood bond?"

Certain spirit beasts, when tied by loyalty or necessity, can forge such a connection. Unlike the rigid structure of a taming contract, this is something older—something instinctual. No master. No servant. Just two beings bound by a shared essence. Qi resonance will strengthen, the link between them deepening, but it comes with its risks.

A bond formed improperly could entangle their life forces in ways neither could control. Pain will be shared, wounds echoed. And if one falls… the other may follow.

De's jaw tightens.

"You're sure about this?" The words slip out, low and rough. He doesn't expect an answer.

Solar's only response is a single step forward, her small paw pressing lightly against his hand. Warmth radiates from the touch, an unnatural heat that pulses with quiet energy. A faint ripple of qi crackles between them, the sensation like static before a storm.

He exhales slowly.

From the belt at his waist, fingers find the hilt of a dagger—a slender, wickedly sharp blade meant for precision. With practiced ease, he slices a thin line across his palm, blood welling dark and rich against the candlelight. A single drop falls to the wooden floor before Solar mirrors the act, dragging one of her claws across her foreleg with careful deliberation.

For a moment, silence.

Then, De presses his bleeding hand against her wound.

Qi erupts between them.

A pulse of raw energy surges through his veins, sharp and fierce—like two rivers colliding, their currents weaving together in an intricate, irreversible knot. The force spirals through his meridians, igniting the open nodes with a searing rush of heat. It is not just power that transfers, but essence—Solar's wild, untamed energy clashing against his own, only to settle as if it had always belonged.

Violet eyes blaze.

For the briefest moment, something ancient flickers beneath Solar's gaze, something beyond instinct, beyond mere beast. A consciousness restrained. A memory lost. Then, just as quickly, it fades.

The energy settles.

The bond solidifies.

De breathes deeply, the lingering sting in his palm grounding him as the new connection hums beneath his skin—not invasive, but present. A quiet thread that links them in ways deeper than words.

Solar steps back, licking her wound before curling at the foot of the bed, watching. That stare holds something almost amused.

"Well," De mutters, flexing his fingers as the sensation lingers. "That's one way to prepare for tomorrow."

No reply comes, but he doesn't need one. The truth is already there, woven into the silence between them.

The overseer arrives at dawn.

Whatever awaits, they will face it together.

The morning air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew-drenched grass and the smoky remnants of last night's dying fires. Dawn has barely broken, yet the village stirs with restless energy, an undercurrent of anticipation rippling through its core.

De stands near the doorway of his small room, barefoot against the cool wooden floor. The wound on his palm remains untouched by any healing pills, the thin, unhealed line a quiet reminder of the bond forged in blood. A flicker of warmth at the edge of his senses tells him Solar is awake, though she does not move, content to let the morning unfold at its own pace.

The bond is manageable. Subtle. A presence that lingers just beneath his consciousness—not a voice, but a sensation. A pulse of heat when she stirs. A faint echo of qi when she shifts.

De exhales, pulling on a set of simple robes, black with red dragon embroidery at the hems. His fingers run through his hair before tying it back with a leather cord. Outwardly, everything is the same. Inside, beneath the calm surface, his thoughts sharpen.

Today marks the first step.

The sect trials loom on the horizon, and with them, the overseer—a figure whose judgment will decide who among them steps beyond the confines of this village and into the true world of cultivation.

Failure is not an option.

By the time De reaches the village square, a crowd has already begun to gather. Whispered voices thread through the cool morning air, a quiet storm of excitement and unease.

A simple wooden platform stands at the far end of the square—a symbol of authority. Soon, it will hold the one who determines their fates.

Moving through the shifting bodies, De remains silent, nodding briefly at familiar faces but not engaging. The weight of expectation in the air is suffocating, but it does not touch him. His focus remains steady, his mind already walking the path ahead.

He senses her before he sees her.

Kalia stands near the edge of the gathering, arms crossed, her posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Loose waves of dark hair frame her face, though her expression betrays nothing. Observing. Measuring. Calculating.

The weight of her scrutiny has been impossible to ignore these past days.

She lingers at the forge. Appears near his training grounds. Watches when she thinks he isn't looking.

De doesn't react.

Then there's Joran.

The young cultivator stands near the front, shoulders squared, fingers twitching at his sides. His recently opened hand node hums with faint qi, raw and unrefined, but there. Restlessness bleeds from every part of him—an energy born of hunger, of need.

He seeks validation.

He seeks proof.

But true strength isn't about need.

A ripple moves through the crowd.

The overseer has arrived.