The moon hung low over the sect's inner courtyards, silver light spilling over moss-covered stones.Kael moved like a shadow between the training pavilions, careful to keep to the narrow paths no one used at night. His heart still beat fast from the afternoon's incident—Jin Tao's face, twisted with rage, replayed in his mind.
The humiliation had been complete. One step, one instinctive movement, and the arrogant disciple had been flat on the ground, gasping for air like a fish. Kael hadn't even understood how he'd done it.
That was what he was here to find out.
He reached an abandoned sparring ring behind the herb storage shed. The boards creaked under his weight, but the place was far enough from the dormitories that even a loud thud wouldn't draw attention.
Kael flexed his fingers.The memory came again—how the world had slowed for an instant, his muscles moving without conscious thought, his body knowing where Jin Tao's strike would land before it even began. The herbalist had called it "a whisper of the flame." But she had said no more.
He breathed deeply, planting his feet."Alright… let's see if it's still there."
The first attempts were clumsy.He tried to throw punches and duck as if in a fight, forcing his body to repeat that instant of clarity. Nothing happened. He just felt foolish, moving alone in the dim light.
Frustration crept in.But then—He remembered the heat. That strange rush, as though something in his chest had ignited. He closed his eyes, focusing on it.
Slowly, his breathing deepened. The world seemed to narrow, his awareness sharpening. The night air shifted; he could feel the smallest movements, the sway of branches, the distant flutter of a moth's wings.
His body moved before his mind did.A fist lashed out—and struck the wooden post dead center, hard enough to crack it.
The sound startled him.When he looked down, his knuckles were reddened, but there was no real pain. Just a faint warmth that pulsed from his chest to his fingertips.
He tried again, letting the sensation guide him. This time, he sidestepped an imagined strike and countered with a sweep. The motion was smoother, cleaner—like he'd been practicing for years.
But each time the reflex came, it left him panting. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cool air. The ability was powerful… but costly.
"Too much," he muttered. "If I keep this up, I'll collapse before I can even finish a real fight."
Still, there was no denying it. He had touched something rare—something dangerous.
The night was silent, until faint voices drifted from the path beyond the shed.Kael froze, crouching low.
"Did you hear? Jin Tao's been sulking in his quarters since the match.""Serves him right. Everyone's talking about it. Some outer disciple made him look like a fool—what was his name again?""I think… Kael? The one without a bloodline? Hah! That must burn."
The voices faded into laughter as the disciples moved on.
Kael straightened slowly.So it had already spread. The herbalist had warned him—shame was poison to prideful men. Jin Tao would not forget this. And neither would those who thrived on gossip.
By the time he slipped back to his quarters, the moon had begun to sink. He lay awake on his cot, staring at the wooden ceiling. The reflex was a gift, but gifts in the sect were never free.
It would draw attention.And attention, in this place, was a blade.
The next morning, he trained with the other outer disciples as usual, keeping his movements deliberately restrained. Jin Tao wasn't present, but Kael could feel the way some of the others watched him now—too curious, too knowing.
During a break, a boy named Han Li leaned closer, whispering, "If I were you, I'd keep to myself. People like Jin Tao don't forget."Kael gave a noncommittal grunt, but the warning lodged in his mind.
That night, he returned to the abandoned ring.This time, he didn't force the reflex. He moved slowly, letting his awareness sink into the world around him—the whisper of leaves, the faint scent of crushed grass beneath his feet, the steady rhythm of his breath.
And there it was again.The Fire. A faint ember that flared only when he stopped thinking and started feeling.
He practiced until his muscles trembled, stopping only when the first light of dawn touched the sky.As he walked back, he knew two things for certain:
First, this ability was real—and it was growing stronger.Second, the more he used it, the more it felt like something inside him was… waking.
And somewhere in the shadows of the sect, he could feel the eyes watching.