Chapter 8 – Old Grudges, New Fires
Morning mist still clung to the rooftops as the town square of Nareth buzzed with early chatter. Markets opened slowly, and townsfolk drifted between stalls. But in the inner halls of the town chief's estate, tension brewed.
Ryn sat quietly in the secluded corner of the estate's library, his eyes scanning a book he barely read. He had not told anyone about the scroll. Each time his fingers brushed against the hidden pouch in his robe, his heart quickened.
He hadn't yet activated the Vein Pulse Art, but the temptation was growing stronger.
Outside, the courtyard training had resumed. The young initiates were now repeating basic strength drills and practicing balance forms with weighted bags strapped to their limbs. Kael led one group, helping Samuel adjust his posture.
"Back straighter, Sam. If your shoulders dip now, you'll wobble when you hit stage four," Kael said, giving him a slight push to realign his stance.
Samuel groaned. "Feels like my back's breaking."
"That means you're doing it right," Kael replied with a wink.
From the shadows of the nearby passage, Ryn watched.
He was the last to arrive that morning, claiming he hadn't slept well.
Truthfully, he hadn't slept at all. He had spent the night poring over the scroll—memorizing its lines, the strange way its instructions pulsed as if alive. It spoke to him, whispering strength in ways the town never had.
In another part of the estate, high above the town square, Rean stepped into the inner chamber of his father's study.
His father, Elder Draxis, a stern-faced man with deep-set eyes and a silver tattoo lining the side of his temple, looked up from his writing desk.
"You came late."
Rean lowered his head slightly. "Apologies, Father. Training ran longer than expected."
Draxis studied him for a long moment. Then he stood and moved to a small cabinet, pulling out a scroll wrapped in blue silk.
"There's been a change. The trial has been delayed by two months."
Rean's brows furrowed. "Why?"
"Because it is no longer just about entrance. It is about selection. This time, sect elders will observe personally. They intend to choose promising disciples directly."
Rean's heartbeat quickened. "So... if I'm strong enough..."
"You could be taken under a personal elder. Given resources others can only dream of."
Rean's eyes burned with new fire.
Draxis held out the scroll. "Then you'll need more than strength. This technique is called the Fish-Flow Step. It's elusive, subtle. Not raw power, but misdirection."
Rean took the scroll, unwrapping it with reverence.
"Master this before the trial. And remember—no one must see you practicing it."
Later that evening, Ryn found Kael alone by the riverbank, tossing pebbles into the water. The sky had turned orange, casting long shadows on the quiet stream.
Kael looked up. "Hey. You vanished right after drills."
"Needed time to think."
Kael nodded, understanding. "You're not the only one. Trial's coming. Everyone's tense."
Ryn hesitated, then sat beside him. "Do you remember when we built that bamboo glider in the forest clearing?"
Kael laughed. "How could I forget? It fell apart mid-jump, and I broke my toe."
"You still smiled when we got caught."
Kael's eyes softened. "Because you helped me build it. And it was worth it."
Ryn looked away. "You always believed in everything... even when it was broken."
Kael glanced at him. "Still do. You okay?"
Ryn wanted to tell him everything. About the scroll. The Vein. The anger.
Instead, he stood. "Just tired. Goodnight, Kael."
As he walked away, Kael watched him, eyes narrowing slightly.
Something was shifting.
Back in his room, Rean lit a single candle and began his silent practice.
His father's voice echoed in his head: Elusive. Subtle. Misdirection.
His body moved like a flowing current, his feet dragging across the mat with barely a sound.
One move after another, until his sweat dripped and the candle burned low.
In the darkness, Rean whispered, "I will not be overlooked."
In the far reaches of Genesis, a cloaked figure stood atop a cliff, watching a black hawk carry a silver note toward Nareth town.
"Soon," he said, his voice cold. "Let the pieces fall."
The game had begun.