The Emberleaf Forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
A day had passed since the battle with the spirit beast. Kael and his team had taken shelter inside a large, hollowed tree surrounded by thick moss and wild thorns. Brin was asleep, his wounded arm tightly bandaged. Samuel sat by the entrance, chewing dry rations and staring into the forest.
Yana sat across from Kael, her head bowed as she worked through slow, calculated breathing.
Kael studied his sword relic, tracing his finger along the still-glowing seal near the hilt. "It spoke," he whispered to himself.
Mike looked up. "Hmm?"
"Nothing."
Mike narrowed his eyes but didn't press.
"We should move again soon," Samuel said, voice hoarse. "That beast might've gone, but the forest hasn't run out of surprises."
---
The group found a quiet stream, where Kael began sparring with Mike again. This time, something clicked.
Each swing brought feedback from the relic—a subtle shift in weight or a slight pulse that corrected his form.
"You're feeling it, aren't you?" Mike asked, stepping back.
Kael nodded. "It's like it's teaching me."
"Not all guidance comes from people." Mike stepped forward. "Let's give that technique a name. It's different from everything I've seen."
Kael hesitated, then smiled. "Pulse Echo Form."
Mike nodded. "Fitting."
---
Two days later, they came across a narrow ridge, where mana naturally gathered at the center of a shallow pond. The air shimmered. Even standing nearby strained the mind.
"Let's train here," Kael said.
The group meditated in turns. Yana and Samuel emerged with headaches. Mike endured longer, his breathing steady. Kael entered last.
The moment he closed his eyes, he fell into a vast black space. The ground cracked beneath him. Oceans dried. Flames consumed forests. He stood in the center as everything broke.
He saw a throne, empty.
And himself, alone.
A voice echoed faintly, like a whisper from the edge of time: *You were never meant to rest.*
He gasped and opened his eyes. Sweat drenched his back. But his core—
—had pulsed. Stronger.
**Stage 5.**
---
Far away, beneath an ancient mountain, Ryn stood before his masked mentor.
"I've taught you the basics of silent movement. Your bloodline is not ready for its full power, but it watches you," the mentor said.
"I want more," Ryn said, his voice tight.
"You'll earn more. First, kill the noise inside you."
Ryn stepped back into the shadows, his movements near soundless.
---
Back in the sect, Rean stood across from a young man draped in sleek robes of dark green and gold. His eyes held contempt, and his presence was suffocating.
"You still move like a street brawler," the man said after a single clash.
Rean steadied himself. "Give me another round."
His brother, Lysar, smirked. "And what? You'll land a hit?"
They clashed again. Rean fell. Again. Again. Bruised and panting, Rean lay on the floor.
"Pathetic," Lysar muttered. "You think hard work closes gaps like ours? You were born to crawl."
He walked away.
Rean sat up, blood in his mouth and fire in his chest.
"Then I'll crawl until I fly."
From the shadows above, Elder Draxis watched with narrowed eyes.
---
That night, the team around Kael sat by a small fire, laughter light but cautious.
They had survived.
They had grown.
But Emberleaf held more trials yet—and beyond the forest, so did fate.