The marble floor beneath Prince Singh's feet was cold, but his blood ran hot with the aftershock of awakening. He could still feel the burn of the lotus and the chill of the kunai. Though neither spirit was active at the moment, they left an invisible imprint in the air around him—one that drew stares, whispers, and wary glances.
Elder Faen and the white-robed priestess led him deeper into the Pavilion. Behind them, guards shut the ornate doors with a heavy thud.
"You will stay in the inner quarters for observation," Faen said without turning. "Spirit Hall will send a record-keeper at dawn."
Singh stayed silent. There was nothing to say. He was still trying to balance the heat and cold inside him.
A young acolyte guided him to a side chamber: stone walls, a straw mat, a water basin, and a spirit-sealing talisman on the door.
"It's for your safety," the acolyte explained nervously. "Your spirits might activate while you sleep."
Singh gave a short nod.
Once alone, he sat on the mat, cross-legged, hands on his knees. His thoughts began to spiral.
Two spirits. One born of light, the other of shadow. How was he supposed to control both?
He closed his eyes.
Immediately, he was pulled into a state of inner awareness. The space inside his spiritual sea was split in two. On one side bloomed the Eternal Sun Lotus, floating above a lake of molten gold. On the other side, embedded in a darkened stone, was the Silent Kunai—emanating waves of calm pressure.
He reached out mentally to the lotus first.
The heat was overwhelming, but pure. It responded to his will easily, like an eager flame awaiting direction.
Then he turned to the kunai.
Nothing.
No movement. No energy spike. Just silence.
He tried again. Still nothing. As if the blade was... watching.
"I see," Singh muttered. "One welcomes me. The other tests me."
Back in the physical world, the night passed with unease. The two spirits did not clash, but they did not rest either. Like two wild beasts tethered to a single body.
When dawn broke, a knock came.
Faen entered, followed by a man dressed in golden robes, bearing Spirit Hall's seal. His eyes glowed faintly—evidence of a powerful cultivator.
"So," the man said, scanning Singh from head to toe. "The records were not exaggerated. Twin spirits. Unregistered. Age sixteen. No traceable lineage."
Faen stepped forward. "And extraordinary potential."
The Spirit Hall emissary turned to Singh. "You will need a spirit ring. Soon. The power inside you is too great to leave untethered."
Singh stood, his voice low. "When?"
The man smiled slightly. "Now."
Outside the Pavilion, a transport cart waited—drawn by a wind-element beast. Three guards, Faen, and the emissary climbed aboard.
"Where are we going?" Singh asked.
"To the lower edge of the Mistfire Ridge," Faen said. "A place where weaker spirit beasts roam. You must find one that suits either of your spirits."
Singh's pulse quickened. His first hunt. His first test of power. And his first step into becoming something more than a mystery.
As the cart rolled out of Starfire City, he tightened his hands into fists.
He would not return empty-handed.
He would return transformed.