Chapter 10 – Unseen Roots
The twin moons cast a silver glow across Nareth's rooftops, reflecting off the soft stream that wound through the village. In the garden behind the town library, Kael knelt beside the cracked pipe again, tightening the bindings. Liora stood nearby, humming a soft tune while conjuring a small breeze to dry the soaked soil.
"You know," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "You've spent more time fixing this pipe than training today."
Kael grinned. "A cultivator's job isn't just to grow strong—it's to be useful too."
Behind them, Samuel arrived with a loud yawn and a sleepy expression. "Morning. Or is it night? I can't tell anymore."
Kael tossed him a towel. "Night. Training time."
Mike followed, carrying a basket of small iron weights. "I've got a new balance drill. Thought we could try it before we head to the forest."
Kael nodded, but his attention shifted toward the hilltop tree.
Ryn was there again.
Watching.
But he vanished the moment Kael turned.
That night, under the cover of shadows, Ryn meditated alone behind the old smithy. The cold of the night couldn't touch him anymore.
The cursed bloodline within him pulsed, responding to each breath, each thought.
The Abyssal Ink Vein had begun to show signs of awakening.
He recalled their younger days—when he and Kael were inseparable. Causing mischief, racing across rooftops, building makeshift gliders. But everything changed when Kael earned praise for a creation Ryn thought was his.
The betrayal burned.
Since then, Ryn had smiled in public and trained in secret. He'd made connections with travelers who whispered of power and ink-stained relics buried beneath forgotten shrines.
And one night, he answered the call.
Elsewhere in the sect above, Rean was drenched in sweat as he fell backward onto a training mat. His arms ached, his breath ragged.
"You lack flow," a voice snapped.
Rean's father, Elder Draxis, stepped forward, adjusting his robes. "The Flowing Fish Technique is about redirection. You're using it like a battering ram."
Rean sat up, frustrated. "I'm not like them. I don't have talent pouring out of my bones. I have to earn this."
Draxis crossed his arms. "Then act like it. You've got two months before the trial. Either you impress an elder, or you fall behind."
Rean wiped the sweat from his brow and picked up the scroll again. "I'll make it work."
Back in Nareth, the town chief stood beneath the ancestral pillar, brushing dust from the ancient carvings.
The protector's return was expected within days, and tensions were rising. With the pool ceremony behind them, the young cultivators had begun individual training. The forest awaited.
He gazed across the rooftops, where children trained by torchlight.
"So many roots hidden in the earth," he muttered. "Let's hope the strongest ones don't rot before they bloom."
The night passed. Morning came.
Kael stood at the village edge, sword relic at his side, and friends at his back.
Tomorrow, they would enter the forest.
And from that point on, only their strength would decide what they became.