Prince Singh stood at the edge of the ancient forest known as Mistfire Ridge, its treeline breathing pale fog that curled around his boots like ghostly fingers. The early morning sunlight barely pierced the mist, casting the world in a grey hush. Ahead of him, endless shadows stretched, hiding dangers unknown—and perhaps his future.
Behind him stood Elder Faen and a tall girl with silver eyes and a chain spear strapped to her back. Her name was Lian Rou, a Spirit Hall apprentice who had already obtained her first ring. She would be his escort, trainer, and if needed—his rescuer.
"This ridge holds both opportunity and death," Faen said gravely. "For your first ring, you'll need a beast between 400 and 900 years old. Any more and your body may collapse. Any less... and your spirits will not reach their full potential."
Singh nodded, keeping his face still. Inside, his mind was racing. Two spirits meant two spirit rings. He didn't even know which to prioritize. The fiery lotus hummed with eager heat under his skin, while the kunai—cold and silent—lay dormant, as if watching from the dark.
"Do you feel either of your spirits resonating with this place?" Lian asked, her voice calm but curious.
"Both are quiet," Singh said truthfully. "But the lotus... it flickered when we passed that sulfur pond back near the ridge's edge."
Lian nodded. "Fire-type beasts are common there. Likely attracted by the volcanic ash under the soil."
The three of them moved deeper into the forest. Lian walked ahead, brushing low-hanging branches aside with her spear. Faen lingered behind, quietly observing Singh's every movement.
An hour passed. The forest grew darker. They encountered a pack of Windfang Hounds—spirit beasts too young to be of use. Singh remained cautious, letting Lian dispatch them effortlessly.
Suddenly, the lotus flared in his chest. A ripple of heat surged through his palm.
"Something's close," Singh said, eyes narrowing.
Lian turned. "What direction?"
He pointed southwest. "That way. It's calling."
Faen raised a brow but said nothing.
They moved quickly, bypassing a gnarled thicket and a shallow stream until they reached a clearing where the mist swirled violently. The air pulsed with warmth.
And then it stepped into view.
A Blazeflame Lynx. Red fur streaked with gold. Its body shimmered like it was woven from sunlight. It growled low, fire curling from its jaws.
Lian whistled. "Six hundred years. Right in the sweet spot."
But Singh felt it—deeper than instinct. The lotus in his soul surged, demanding. It wanted this ring.
"I'll do it," Singh said.
"You've never fought a beast before," Lian warned.
Singh didn't answer. Instead, he summoned the lotus, letting it bloom fully in the air. The lynx snarled, recognizing its elemental opposite.
Faen's eyes narrowed. "Let him try."
The battle was brutal. Singh dodged the lynx's burning pounces with untrained agility, using instinct and flashes of foresight. He conjured lotus petals—fiery projectiles that danced in erratic patterns. The lynx roared and charged again, claws out.
Just as it leaped, Singh spun low and thrust out both hands. A surge of heat exploded from the lotus, engulfing the lynx in a bloom of golden flame. It staggered, wounded.
Panting, Singh reached out.
His hand trembled over the beast's dying form as Faen guided him through the absorption process. Energy coiled into his spine like threads of fire threading through his bones.
Then he screamed.
The world flashed white.
And when he opened his eyes...
The lotus was brighter. More defined. A ring of glowing yellow hovered beneath it—his first spirit ring.
Faen clapped once. "Good. Very good."
But then Singh's kunai spirit pulsed. Once. Then again.
A chilling howl echoed through the forest.
Another beast had sensed the shift.
One with shadow in its blood.
And it was coming.