BECOMING

 I had yet to settle into my new surroundings after being placed in a small, yet luxuriously appointed room. For a moment, I found myself admiring the gilded walls, intricately adorned with patterns of dragons and phoenixes, their stories woven into the very fabric of the space. As I took in the beauty, an unsettling sensation crept over me—a feeling that I was not alone.

 When a shadow flickered behind the door, I moved stealthily, curiosity propelling me forward. I opened the door to find a young boy, his ear pressed against the wood as if trying to hear secrets whispered in the air. Startled, he scratched the back of his neck, a flush creeping across his cheeks.

 "Hey?" he muttered, caught off guard.

 "What are you doing?" I asked, my tone laced with intrigue.

 "Nothing," he replied shyly, avoiding my gaze.

 "It didn't seem that way to me," I pressed, my interest piqued.

 After a moment of silence, he relented. "Fine, I was just curious." With that, he invited himself into the room, his boldness surprising me. He appeared to be around my age, perhaps a year or two older, and as he explored the space, I considered the possibility of his presence. Being a native of the Commune, he might offer insights I desperately needed.

 "Who are you supposed to be?" I inquired, wanting to know more.

 "You can call me Haesu," he replied, warmth creeping into his voice. "If there's anything you need to know about the Red Spear Commune, feel free to ask." As he wandered about, studying the room, a question nagged at me.

 "I haven't seen any women in the Commune," I pointed out.

 "It's the Red Spear Commune. There have never been any women here," he said, and his words struck me like a cold breeze.

 "But you all wear makeup," I countered, puzzled.

 "Because we are warriors of the War Goddess. We emulate her style. Out there, people may disregard us, but in here, we are trained to embody the beauty we believe she possessed," Haesu asserted, a hint of pride in his voice.

 "So how does succession work? Most sects and communes are patriarchies, and succession is hereditary."

 "You must have seen the Flame and Thunder," he replied, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

 "Yes," I answered, recalling the vivid imagery.

 "It's a Phoenix Fire that has never burned out—a gift from the Cardinal Guardian of the Red Phoenix Sect of the South, bestowed over seven thousand years ago. It is considered pure, divine, and incorruptible. It alone chooses the Sect Chief. Currently, His Highness has been in seclusion for the past year," Haesu explained, his voice steady yet tinged with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

 "What about you? How did you become a member of the Commune at such a young age?" My curiosity deepened, eager to unravel the layers of his story.

 "Like many others in the Sect, we were all orphans—children rescued from the streets, victims of wars along the borders. Some were slaves, while a few had left their homes to join the Sect during the Sorting Ceremony, held once every four years at a secret location where Talents are chosen." Haesu spoke in a somber tone, and I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. Perhaps it was his story that resonated with me, or maybe it was the reflection of my own inadequacies.

 "I never thought there would be a Commune as venerable as this," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

 "To be frank, most of the people here are Sin Bloods," he confided, the weight of his words hanging in the air. I was taken aback, and he must have seen the surprise etched on my face.

 "While other Sects and Communes seek power, we aspire to create a home for mankind. We accept everyone as they are, believing that all can grow strong enough to protect. We raise guardians, soldiers, and assassins alike, for we hold that this is what the goddess of war sacrificed herself for." His faith was profound, a beacon amidst the shadows.

 "I envy you," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could catch them.

 "I should be the one envious," he replied. "Everyone hopes to be the Avatar of the War Goddess. In fact, had you not come today, Wiman would surely have been the next Bearer of the Divine Bone Rune." The Grandmaster had mentioned Wiman as my teacher, igniting my curiosity. Without a hint of hesitation, I asked, "Who is Wiman?"

 "The hottest man in the whole Commune," he said, his eyes shining with admiration.

 "Isn't it amusing that you're swooning over an old man?" I teased.

 "Who said he was old?"

 "He's going to be my Master," I confessed, and suddenly, his demeanor shifted.

 "I'm so jealous," he murmured. "Just because they say he's your Master doesn't mean he's an old man with a long beard and a big tummy." He laughed lightly, and I couldn't help but smile.

 "What do you mean?"

 "He's twenty years old."

 "My Master is twenty?" I was taken aback by the revelation.

 "I heard he was also an orphan when he arrived at the Commune, but he was a prodigy. At eight years old, his primordial forte was calculated at ninety-six points—the highest ever recorded in our history. He was certified a genius. By ten, he had earned his first two Rings, and by fifteen, his Halo had reached five Rings. At nineteen, he attained the sixth Ring after a breakthrough, and only a few months ago, he was knighted a Master himself." Haesu's words painted Wiman as a hero, and I felt a mix of admiration and apprehension—was I worthy of the honor I had seemingly stolen from him?

 "What kind of person is he?" I inquired, eager for insight before our meeting the day after tomorrow.

 "He is the most handsome man in the Commune, but he doesn't flaunt his looks. Tough and serious, everyone fears him. He is a man of few words, preferring solitude—either lost in books at the library, practicing martial arts, playing the Geumgango and flute, or meditating to achieve his seventh spiritual breakthrough." Haesu's description only deepened my intimidation.

 "Has he ever had any other disciples?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

 "You'll be his first," Haesu replied, an edge of gravity in his tone. "Perhaps that's because he has spent his life training to become the Bearer of the Divine Bone Rune. Don't expect your training to resemble that of the other Sect members. From what I've heard, his training was brutal. By fourteen, he had already become immune to pain."

 A chill ran through me at his words. I had known little pain in my life, and the thought of enduring the same trials as Wiman filled me with dread. While I felt inferior to him in countless ways, the weight of being his first disciple loomed over me. Haesu had indirectly warned me that my experience would be harsh, and I was far from ready.

 Accepting this reality took an extraordinary amount of courage. My heart ached for my brother, whose whereabouts the Sect had promised to track down. Proving myself felt like an insurmountable challenge, and the burden pressed heavily on my shoulders.

 When the day finally arrived to meet my Master, I was anything but settled. The night before had been restless, consumed by rehearsals of how I would approach him, how to speak. I meticulously ensured my attire was perfect before stepping out of my residence.

 A pair of warriors escorted me to one of the isolated structures perched on the edge of what appeared to be a cliff, one of the seven hills. As we approached, the compound revealed itself in serene beauty, more enchanting up close than I had imagined. The air was rich with the sweet scent of peonies and plum blossoms, and the cherry trees, too, had begun to bloom, their petals whispering promises of spring.

 The warriors halted, their demeanor shifting. "Follow this path," one instructed, his voice firm. "It will lead you into a Crypt."

 "Aren't you coming with me?" I asked, a flicker of hope igniting within me.

 "No," he replied flatly.

 "Everyone knows the Young Master Wiman hates being interrupted during practice," they added, eyes averted.

 "But he's expecting me," I protested, a rising panic clawing at my chest.

 "He isn't expecting us," they insisted, bowing deeply before taking their leave, leaving me alone in the stillness. Suddenly, the sweet aura of the place turned bitter, and uncertainty wrapped around me like a shroud. Yet, I steeled myself and followed the path.

 As I ventured deeper, the cherry blossoms grew taller and arched overhead, guiding me toward what appeared to be the entrance of a cave. I stepped inside, the air cooling around me.

 Contrary to my expectations, the walls were adorned with vibrant reliefs—stories etched in color, each one a narrative unfolding before my eyes. I was drawn in, captivated by the artistry, until a bright light at the far end beckoned me forward.

 I proceeded cautiously, each step deliberate and light, until I reached what felt like the heart of the cave.

 If the outside world had been beautiful, this place was nothing short of heavenly. Four sections thrived in harmony, each embodying the essence of summer, spring, autumn, and winter simultaneously. Flowers bloomed in vibrant colors, and insects flitted about, creating an enchanting realm seemingly unbound by the laws of nature.

 I stood entranced, unable to tear my gaze from a small fountain modeled after the Seven Hills, its waters shimmering like liquid jewels. Above it floated a statue of the goddess, her four faces gazing thoughtfully in each cardinal direction.

 Lost in wonder, I barely noticed the shift in the air until a strong wind rushed past me, stirring my senses. It must have been him, I thought, as I caught sight of the figure approaching. Dressed in crimson and gold robes, he wore a gilded blindfold over his eyes. His face was narrow, ending in a flat chin, with a delicate nose and lips like cherry blossoms. His wide temples and strong jawline confirmed what I had heard—he was indeed as striking as they said.

 He moved gracefully, wielding his sword with fluidity, first sweeping to the left and then to the right as he glided across the chamber. He landed effortlessly on a branch of a dark green willow tree, where he performed a series of intricate maneuvers, balancing on one leg before spinning and levitating to the center of the cave, illuminated by brilliant sunlight.

 With his blade held high, I watched in awe as he juggled a handful of leaves, effortlessly slicing them into fine pieces. Then, with a swift turn, he pointed his sword at me and began his descent, the grace of his movements both captivating and intimidating.

 Perhaps I was too awed to react, or perhaps it was the fleeting nature of the moment. In less than half a second, his blade hovered just beneath my chin. I stumbled backward, feeling my balance waver, but before I could fall, I felt his arm encircle my waist as the blindfold slipped from his eyes.

 What I saw took my breath away—his red eyes sparkled like precious jades, reflecting the light with an emptiness that felt both haunting and beautiful. My heart raced, a chaotic rhythm echoing in my chest.

 "Hold yourself together," I thought, forcing my gaze to meet his thick brows. He steadied me on my feet, then withdrew a few paces, creating space between us.

 "Greetings, Master," I managed to say, bowing my head, my palms slick with sweat as I broke eye contact. He remained silent for a moment before snapping his fingers.

 "Look up," he commanded, his voice soft yet laced with authority. I obeyed.

 His straight black hair danced in the gentle breeze, a striking contrast to the vibrant surroundings. "So, it's you," he murmured.

 "Yes, Master. I am Saya," I introduced myself, but he turned away, seemingly lost in thought.

 "So you are the Bearer of the Divine Bone Rune?" he asked, his tone probing.

 "Yes," I replied, unsure of where this conversation was leading.

 "Why do you wish to fight?" he inquired, his gaze piercing.

 "To become stronger," I answered, though I sensed his skepticism hanging in the air.

 A temporary silence enveloped us, thick with unspoken questions and the weight of expectations. He broke the stillness, his curiosity lingering just beneath the surface.

 "Long ago, our ancestors entrusted the four corners of our world to the protection of Four Divine Creatures: the Azure Dragon in the East, the Red Phoenix in the South, the White Tiger in the West, and the Black Tortoise in the North. These Four Cardinal Guardians gave rise to the Big Four Sects we know today. In time, each Sect was entrusted with Four Divine Weapons and elements that once existed as part of the Original Spirit of the Goddess of War. While these weapons could obliterate the 99 Demonic Pillars within the mortal realm, only the reincarnation of the goddess can truly end all suffering. However, part of her primordial essence was dispersed with the creation of the Hallow, leaving her power thin over the years. As the number of demons in the Mortal Realm multiplied, chaotic energy surged, throwing the world out of balance. When the reincarnation of the goddess arrives, the mortal fraction of her Primordial spirit, sealed within the heart of the mountain, will reveal to its host what must be done." His voice was steady, yet the weight of his words lingered in the air.

 "I have indeed been told," I replied, though uncertainty gnawed at me.

 "But do you understand your purpose now? Do you know what you're up against?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering.

 Silence was my only response.

 "You face unspoken forces, incomprehensible to mankind in its entirety—forces that predate civilizations, that have existed as part of the universe for hundreds of thousands of years." He stepped closer, the intensity of his presence almost tangible. "You said you want to be stronger, but that isn't enough of an answer. You are obliged to become the strongest. If you think the perfect Halo or the Divine Bone Rune makes you special, you are mistaken."

 Our eyes locked, mere inches apart. His gaze burned with a fierce intensity, and amidst the tension, I caught the faint scent of plum blossoms.

 "Saya is willing to learn from you, Master," I managed to say, forcing myself back to the present.

 "The foundation of combat is a strong body; the foundation of a strong body is a strong mind. Before you can become a warrior, you must endure Seven physical and illusory pains, starting now," Wiman asserted. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured chains that bound my hands and feet before the statue of the goddess of death.

 "Master!" I exclaimed, panic rising within me.

 "The first pain: the pain of physical torture. Withstand the power of purified lightning," he commanded. With a snap of his fingers, I felt a jolt of thunder engulf my body. It was as if every part of me had been set ablaze, and I let out a cry that echoed in the cavern, raw and desperate.

 "Hold in your tears. You're facing forces much worse. Before you can grow strong enough to fight, you must be strong enough to endure," he muttered as the intensity of the lightning surged, threatening to overwhelm me.

 "Feel it," he insisted, but it felt as if my skin were peeling away, slow and agonizing. I thought I was dying. After what felt like an eternity—though it was likely only ten minutes—I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

 "This isn't normal," I whimpered, my body a testament to the torment I had endured.

 "You're not normal," Wiman replied, his voice steady yet devoid of comfort. As he examined me, I felt utterly vulnerable, wounded and burned.

 "When you are consumed by something—be it anger, vengeance, or love—you may find the strength to confront your fears and let go of what binds you. That is how it works," he remarked, his words echoing in the cavern of my mind.

 I lacked the strength to respond, drowning instead in unspoken regrets and exhaustion. I wanted to find something or someone to blame, but the pain was too all-consuming.

 "Find your reason to bear this, find your reason to fight," he urged, but I was too far gone, sinking into darkness as I closed my eyes and surrendered to fatigue.

 Time lost meaning, and when consciousness returned, I was enveloped in the sweet scent of plum blossoms. I opened my eyes to see Haesu's face hovering above me. Disoriented, I sat up, my fingers tracing my skin, seeking wounds that were not there.

 "Were you having a nightmare?" Haesu asked, concern etched on his features.

 "No," I replied, though uncertainty lingered.

 "What happened to startle you like this?" he pressed.

 "Nothing. I was just surprised," I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

 "How was your initial training? What happened between you and Wiman?" His enthusiasm surprised me.

 "Definitely unforgettable. I was practically electrocuted."

 "And you emerged without any wounds? Honestly, I thought you passed out before the training even began." He teased, his playful tone lightening the heaviness in the air.

 "What do you mean I had no wounds?" Confusion washed over me.

 "Everyone was shocked. Wiman carried you to your chamber while you appeared sound asleep and calm," Haesu assured me, but doubt flickered within me. Had I truly misremembered the events?

 "Impossible."

 "Tell me about it." Haesu's expression mirrored my own disbelief, shock evident in his wide eyes.

 "I can almost swear the training was brutal," I insisted, throwing aside my covers to examine my body. I confirmed with my own eyes that there were no wounds or scars. I turned to Haesu, who looked equally perplexed.

 "Were you hit hard?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

 "Forget it," I muttered, but my mind was restless, grappling with the mystery. I was certain it hadn't been a dream, yet the absence of any marks on my skin suggested that Wiman had done something beyond my comprehension. I couldn't confront him, nor could I begin to articulate my confusion.

 One thing was clear: curiosity and awe mixed within me, fueling my anticipation for the next training session. When the following day arrived, I found myself back in the familiar cave.

 "Why do you wish to fight?" Wiman asked again, his tone as steady as ever.

 "I want to become stronger," I replied, my voice firm. The moment the words left my lips, he snapped his fingers, and once more, I was bound. Lightning surged through me, more intense than before—two or three times worse than what I had experienced previously.

 I lost consciousness, only to awaken again, time blurring with each cycle. My skin remained flawless, unmarred by wounds or scars. After a month, I reached a point where I no longer fainted. But one day, I arrived at the cave and found it empty.

 Curious about Wiman's absence, I decided to search for him. It was unusual for him not to be there, as he typically practiced alone each morning. I glanced down at the lower hill and spotted familiar faces among the other practitioners. After a month in the Red Spear Commune, I had learned to recognize a handful of them, having grown accustomed to their routines.

 I landed and confirmed my suspicion: it was Chunho, accompanying Grandmaster Yu into the Commune Pharmacy. My curiosity piqued, I followed them quietly, careful not to draw attention. They approached the elderly Physician, Old Man Song.

 He was the oldest member of the Commune, distinguished by his flowing white hair. Despite his age, his features retained a handsomeness that suggested he had once been striking in his youth. Revered by many, it was said that he had lived for nearly 400 years. Countless practitioners sought his wisdom, particularly regarding medicine.

 "Master Yu?" Old Man Song looked startled to see them both.

 "There is an issue," Grandmaster Yu reported, exchanging a quick glance with Chunho, Wiman's assistant. He leaned in to whisper something to the doctor, who hurriedly gathered his tools before they set off toward me.

 I quickly maneuvered around the building, hiding as they flew up to the high residential hills where the martial masters resided. Without hesitation, I followed at a distance, watching as they landed in the Courtyard. They entered Byeoljeon Hall, and I slipped behind the structure, positioning myself for a clear view through a slightly opened window.

 There, I saw Wiman lying on his bed, drenched in sweat, and a sense of worry washed over me.

 Doctor Song entered the room with Chunho and Grandmaster Yu, their movements abrupt and urgent. Wiman, sensing their presence, slowly sat up, flinching in pain. Part of his robe slipped aside, revealing severe burns marring his skin.

 I was taken aback; he had seemed so healthy during our weeks of training.

 "How did this happen?" Doctor Song asked, concern etching his features. Chunho appeared ready to speak, but Wiman cut in.

 "It's all my fault," he admitted, his voice strained. "I insisted on using the Transmission spell."

 "You know the Flaming Thunder is no ordinary flame. The energy it generates cannot be withstood by mortals. If not treated promptly, your progress will suffer greatly," Doctor Song chided, his tone firm.

 "I was entrusted with teaching him the Way, regardless of the method. Having endured worse under the Commune Chief, I couldn't let a mere sixth-grade attack of Flaming Thunder prove my worthlessness," Wiman countered, defiance flickering in his eyes.

 Suddenly, everything fell into place. The reason my wounds had vanished—it was because Wiman had healed me at the end of each practice. Guilt washed over me; my enthusiasm had inadvertently brought him pain, a pain that transformed into scars on his body while mine faded without a trace.

 "You've already faced tribulation to acquire a high-grade body. For you, this experience is not constructive; it's destructive. Do you hate yourself for being rejected by the Divine Bone Rune?" Grandmaster Yu asked, his voice steady yet probing.

 "No," Wiman replied, his resolve unwavering.

 "If his body cannot remember the pain, how can he ever form a strong vessel to hold the goddess's essence?" Chunho questioned, skepticism shadowing his words.

 "You don't understand; his body is different," Wiman insisted, a cough erupting violently from his lips. Doctor Song quickly took his wrist, checking his pulse amidst the anxious gazes of the others.

 "You're fortunate. The situation isn't serious after only a month, but your cultivation will decline. For the next three months, you must refrain from attempting to break through to the seventh Ring," Old Man Song reported, conjuring a pill in his hand and offering it to Wiman.

 Wiman took the pill calmly, swallowing it as he was enveloped by a crimson and golden aura. He settled into the Lotus position, meditating and circulating the energy throughout his body, gradually beginning to heal.

 Minutes passed, and Old Man Song turned to the others. "Let him rest," he instructed, and they stepped outside, leaving a hush in the air.

 "How long are you going to stand there?" Wiman suddenly asked, his voice cutting through my absent-mindedness. It dawned on me that I had been peering through a narrow opening.

 I stepped back, meeting his frown, and moved around the structure to enter his room. It was spacious and clean, adorned with muted shades of red and gold. The thin windows allowed soft light to filter in, mingling with the sweet fragrance of flowers blooming outside.

 "Master," I greeted him, attempting to sound casual.

 "You don't need to worry. I won't die," he assured me, his tone steady.

 "I heard everything," I replied, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air.

 "So?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.

 "You've been healing my wounds all this time…" I trailed off, unsure of how to voice the storm of emotions within me. Anger felt misplaced, especially when I resented the pain I had endured. Yet the guilt that swelled within me was profound, a tide of remorse I could hardly contain.

 "You're my first apprentice; perhaps you are special," he murmured under his breath.

 "Why is that?" I asked, searching for clarity. "The Divine Bone Rune, which was meant for you, rejected you because of my presence."

 "And?" he prompted, his gaze steady.

 "Shouldn't you at least resent me for that?" I pressed.

 "What do you think?" he replied, perceptive of my turmoil.

 "I thought the torture I endured was a reflection of your hatred for me, for possessing what should have been yours. All my life, I believed I lost the things I cherished because of my greed, because I took what I shouldn't have," I confessed, the weight of my guilt heavy on my heart.

 "Do you deserve that, though?" he asked, his tone oddly cold as he turned to face the open window.

 "Every day, I asked you why you wanted to fight, and you told me you wanted to become stronger. But part of that strength requires you to bury most of your feelings—pain, love, regret, frustration. You must embrace fury, anger, justice, and impartiality. It may seem like a worthy sacrifice, but having experienced it myself, I know how easy it is to lose yourself in the process. Fourteen Nidanas, activating the seven paths of reincarnation—each path a deeper pain. I had a chance to survive that, so do you think I can hate you for earning a chance to be human again?" His voice was deep, resonating with a wisdom that moved me.

 "The Bearer of the Divine Bone Rune of the Goddess of War does not train to become an ordinary martial practitioner or to achieve immortality. They train to become a divine weapon of war, a sacrifice for the well-being of all mankind. Other emotions are considered fatal attachments to the material world. To achieve the ultimate strength of your true divine form, you must let go of them entirely," he insisted.

 "I wanted this?" I questioned, grappling with the implications.

 "That's the price of strength. Many will attack you, desperate to seize what you possess. Your loved ones will be targeted because of you, and they may even die for your sake. This is why the Red Spear Commune could perish today; yet, as long as you survive, those who sacrifice their lives for you will feel they have fulfilled their duty." Wiman's words struck me like a cold wind.

 I paused, momentarily taken aback. "Forgive me," I murmured, a sense of shame washing over me.

 "You don't need my forgiveness."

 "Then make me stronger," I resolved, determination hardening my voice.

 "How much stronger?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.

 "I want to surpass you. I want to surpass everyone in this world. With the Divine Bone Rune within me, I want you to forge me into the strongest being alive—strong enough for people to tremble at the sound of my name, strong enough to protect all those I love." My words rang with conviction, a promise to myself and to the world that might have aw well been my becoming.