The summons came at dawn. A single gong echoed across the sect, stirring disciples from their beds. Kaelen rose with the others, blending into the shuffle of robes and murmurs. He knew this sound—it marked the call to a sect-sanctioned mission, the first true test beyond the safety of the mountain's walls.
In the main square, elders stood upon the raised platform. Their gazes swept the gathered initiates like blades, weighing, judging. Elder Hiran's voice carried across the crowd, steady and cold.
"The Shrouded Ravine trial has shown your foundations. Now you will face a greater test. Beyond our walls lies the Ashen Vale, a land scarred by wandering spirits and beasts. You will enter, in squads, and retrieve spirit cores from the corrupted wolves that roam its edge. Survive, and return with proof of your strength. Fail… and your names will be forgotten."
Murmurs rippled through the disciples. The Ashen Vale was notorious; even its outskirts claimed lives.
Assignments were called.
"Squad One: Joren, Talis, Ren."
Gasps followed—Elder Hiran had handpicked Joren's group, loading it with capable allies. Favor was no longer rumor—it was fact.
"Squad Two: Kaelen, Thalen, Mira."
The words carried no weight, no awe. A faint chuckle rose from the crowd.
—
They set out by midday, jade talismans hanging at their waists, marking them as initiates of the sect. The air grew colder as they descended from the mountain, the Ashen Vale stretching like a wound across the horizon. Blackened trees clawed at the sky, mist curling low across the earth.
Joren's squad led confidently, serpent gleaming at his side. His followers laughed, relaxed, their arrogance unshaken even in dangerous territory.
Kaelen's squad trailed behind. Thalen puffed out his chest, boasting about the wolves he would slay. Mira said little, her eyes wide, hand never straying far from her sword.
Kaelen remained silent, his faint serpent flickering like a shadow. But within his Soul Palace, it shed the last traces of its old husk. Silver scales gleamed sharper now, and its eyes burned with hunger.
—
The first wolves came at dusk. Their howls split the mist, red eyes glowing in the dark. Joren's squad met them head-on. His serpent struck, venom burning through fur and flesh, his followers flanking him with well-practiced precision. Each kill was swift, deliberate, a display meant to impress.
Nearby, disciples cheered. "Look at Joren! Already another core!"
Kaelen's squad was less fortunate. Three wolves lunged from the mist, their teeth snapping. Thalen's bravado faltered as claws raked across his arm. Mira's blade shook in her hand.
Kaelen stepped forward, calm cutting through the chaos. His serpent appeared faint, nearly invisible in the mist—but its strike was true. It darted low, fangs piercing a wolf's throat. The beast convulsed, crumpling silently.
Thalen gaped. Mira blinked, startled.
No cheers followed. No elder's gaze lingered. Yet within his Soul Palace, Kaelen's serpent devoured the wolf's fading essence, its silver glow deepening. A fragment of feral instinct seared into his mind—a movement pattern, a surge of speed. His lips curved into the faintest smile.
Let Joren dazzle the sect with fire and venom. Kaelen would take his strength from the shadows, unseen and uncelebrated.
And when the Vale demanded blood in earnest, it would not be Joren's name the darkness whispered.