The sect's air grew heavy with currents of ambition. Rivalries, whispered alliances, and the quiet favor of elders shaped the days as much as training did.
Joren basked in the glow of attention. His jade serpent's rapid growth was no longer just gossip—it was fact. Elders offered him scrolls of guidance, disciples jostled for his recognition, and his name was carried like a banner among the initiates. Each spar he fought was a performance; each victory, a reminder of his place above the rest.
Kaelen, in contrast, worked in silence. His assigned tasks were always the ones others shirked—hauling water, polishing the stone floors of the meditation halls, fetching herbs for apothecaries. He accepted them without complaint, slipping into the role of the overlooked.
But when night fell and the sect grew quiet, he sat cross-legged in the far corners of the training grounds. There, with his faint serpent flickering at his side, he replayed the movements he'd observed during the day. He traced Qi pathways in his mind, testing circulation patterns, pushing his limits to copy and adapt techniques that weren't his to learn.
Every attempt carved fire into his skull, every breakthrough wrung sweat from his body. And yet each night he rose sharper, more precise.
—
The rivalry with Joren began to take deeper root.
In one sparring session, Kaelen's group was paired against Joren's. The outcome was never in question—Joren's serpent hissed with venom, his strikes crisp, his movements bolstered by a growing circle of followers. Kaelen's faint serpent drew laughter, Thalen's clumsy overconfidence faltered, and Mira's timid defenses barely held.
"Do you even belong here?" Joren sneered as Kaelen's serpent flickered under the glare of the crowd. His strike landed near Kaelen's throat, stopping just short at the elder's call.
The spectators roared. The humiliation was complete.
Kaelen lowered his gaze, absorbing the sting. Yet within his Soul Palace, the serpent stirred, its discarded husk nearly gone, new scales glinting faintly silver. No one saw. No one could.
—
Behind closed doors, elders debated.
"Joren grows by leaps. His temperament is sharp, but his potential is undeniable."
"And the quiet one? Kaelen, is it? He shows little worth."
"Not all seeds sprout. Some are meant for the dirt."
The consensus was clear: Joren was the rising star. Kaelen was dust in the wind.
But dust carried by the wind could cut stone, given time.
—
In the shadows of the sect halls, Kaelen walked unseen, gathering strength in silence. His rival rose higher, brighter, but also heavier with expectation.
And though the gap seemed insurmountable, Kaelen's serpent coiled tightly in his Soul Palace, whispering of growth that none could yet imagine.
The seed of rivalry had been sown. Soon, it would bear fruit.