I moved upwards through the mountain. I was quite high up by now. From here, I could see the endless sea around the island. A captivating sight. The endless blue shifted and shimmered. I took a breather, letting myself enjoy it.
The island and its jungle were lush, bright, and colorful. Insects chirped, birds called, the jungle hummed around me. I trekked along mud roads left by past challengers. A month ago, my stamina wouldn't have allowed this journey. Now it felt almost like a relaxing stroll through this exotic land.
And then I saw it.
The Keahi Blossom.
It grew from a crack in the black stone. A single stem where no other life dared linger. Its petals burned like embers, orange fading into deep crimson. The edges shimmered with an inner light that pulsed like a heartbeat. For a moment, I thought it might wither as I reached for it. But instead, the glow deepened. It felt alive. Aware. Testing me.
I could hear faint whispers curling through the air—like fire crackling, like voices carried on smoke. The scent was sharp and wild, filling my chest, making my skin prickle. Not a simple flower, but a flame captured in bloom. A fragment of the island's spirit given form.
I reached a trembling hand toward it, half afraid, half in awe. This was what we had all come here for. The proof of worth. The right to be called a warrior.
But before my fingers brushed the petals, a sharp crack split the air.
Wham!
A massive fist caved a hole in the boulder beside me, where my head had been. Stone chips flew into my cheek. The ledge shuddered. I nearly lost my footing.
I jerked back, heart hammering.
The owner of the fist straightened, stepping fully into the light. Broad-shouldered, thick-necked, every inch of him radiated raw, brute strength. His eyes burned with challenge.
"I can't let you take that, outsider," he said, voice low and seething.
"Well, I found this one. Go find your own."
He bared his teeth in a grin that was closer to a snarl. "Why go through all that trouble when I can just take yours."
Then the glow came.
The tattoo etched across his chest—an inked boar, tusks lowered in mid-charge—began to shimmer with molten light. The glow spread, crawling along his veins like fire in dry brush. His hair rose, thickened into a ragged mane, bristling with energy.
With a low rumble, glowing curved tusks erupted from his jaw, inscribed with runes that flickered like embers. They pulsed with raw power, humming in the air between us.
A Spirit Art. The boar.
The glow from his tusks flared—and then he moved.
BOOM!
He charged like a runaway boulder. The ground trembled under his stomps. I dove aside just in time, my shoulder scraping rock as his body crashed past. Behind me, stone shattered in an explosion of dust. His tusks gouged a deep scar into the cliffside wall.
I stumbled back. "Holy shit…"
He turned, snorting. A feral grin split his face.
I steadied my breathing and dropped into a stance. If this was how he fought, maybe I could—
I lunged. My arms, my footwork—rough echoes of his charging style. We clashed. Tusks against my guard. Shoulder against mine. The impact rattled my bones. I pushed back, gritting my teeth.
For a moment, his grin faltered.
"You… you're copying me?"
Then his tusk slammed into my ribs. Pain exploded. I hit the ground hard, breath tearing out of me.
I groaned, clutching my chest. Arms heavy. Legs trembling. "Damn it…"
The boar fighter loomed above me. Tusks glowing brighter. Snarl fully animalistic.
"Give up, outsider. You can't beat me at my own strength."
He was right. I couldn't win like this.
Then a thought struck me.
The strongest person I knew wasn't him. It wasn't anyone here. Thankfully it was someone I knew very well. It was Aria.
Her movements, burned into my memory from a hundred sparring matches. The way she flowed—not brute force, but precision, speed, timing.
I pushed myself up. Forcing air back into my lungs. My stance shifted—lighter, sharper, more deliberate. Not the crashing weight of the boar. The cutting edge of Aria.
When he charged again, I stepped aside just a hair. His tusks scraped empty air. My palm slammed against his shoulder, redirecting him. Momentum betrayed him. He stumbled forward.
I pressed the advantage. Sharp strike to his ribs. Low sweep at his ankle. Each move smaller, cleaner, but it chipped away at him, breaking the rhythm of his power.
His eyes widened. "What… what style is this?"
I didn't answer. Too focused. Each motion from memory. From instinct. From her.
He roared, swinging wildly. I slipped past it, twisting in. Fist snapped against his jaw. Head snapped back. Tusks flickered. Cracks formed along the spirit-light.
One last strike. My body screamed, but I poured everything into it. Rising kick, straight under his guard. Clean hit. He lifted off his feet before crashing to the ground in a heap.
Silence. Only the ragged sound of my breathing.
He didn't get up. The glow of his tusks faded into sparks, vanishing into the air.
I stood, trembling. Clutching my ribs. Chest rising and falling, each breath burning—but still standing. I had won.
I staggered toward the blossom. Still swaying gently. Glow faint in the mountain light. Mist curling around its petals. Almost unreal.
Carefully, I reached out. Fingers closed around the stem. Warm against my palm. I pulled it free.
A pulse went through me. Maybe only my heartbeat, but I swore the flower hummed. Glow stronger in my hand. Petals soft, unyielding. Trace of heat, like an ember.
Long breath. One step completed.
Tucking the blossom safely against my chest, I turned from the summit. Trial wasn't over. Still had to make it back down.
The path downward wound through cliffs and ledges. Narrower than the ascent. Ribs ached with every movement, but I pressed on. Step by step, the mountain tested me again.
Sweat wiped from my brow, I muttered, "No turning back now…"
The mountain was quiet, almost too quiet. My muscles screamed, ribs throbbing. Warmth of the Keahi Blossom kept me upright.
But the prickling at the back of my neck didn't fade. Someone watched. I felt it. The subtle shift of mist curling around rocks.
And then I saw him.
Blonde hair caught faintly in morning light. Lean, coiled with quiet danger. Stance relaxed, but every line spoke control. Skill. A curved blade hung at his side, edge catching the light, almost alive.
Recognition hit like a shock.
I'd seen him before. Back at the village when I first arrived. One of the guards. One of the two with the machetes. Calm. Precise. Sharp. Not brash or reckless, just cunning. Expression measured.
Now here he was. Watching. Waiting.
A voice cut through the silence. Low. Sharp.
"I finally found you, outsider."