The sect's grand courtyard was alive with whispers. Disciples filled the stone terraces in tight clusters, eyes darting toward the returning squads. The stag's shattered antlers, borne on Joren's squad's shoulders, gleamed under the mountain sun like trophies of war.
Elders lined the high platform, their robes heavy with authority. Their gazes fell upon Joren the moment he stepped forward, serpent coiled in a tight spiral at his side, its scales shining like polished jade.
"Exceptional," Elder Sarros declared, his voice carrying through the courtyard. "To bring down a corrupted guardian at your stage speaks not only of strength but of command. You led, and others followed. That is the mark of a rising star."
The words rolled like thunder, and the crowd erupted into murmurs. Joren bowed low, his expression composed but eyes gleaming with triumph. Behind him, Talis stood grimly, Ren supported on a stretcher. Their injuries were acknowledged only with a passing glance.
Kaelen stood with his squad near the rear, half-hidden by the crowd. Mira's jaw was tight, her eyes flicking between the elders and Kaelen as though silently weighing whether to speak. Thalen shifted uneasily beside her, clearly resentful but too weary to protest. Only Eira's gaze lingered on Kaelen, quiet acknowledgment softening her sharp features.
None of the elders so much as looked his way.
Another elder, lean and hawk-eyed, rose to speak. "Discipline and valor are the pillars of our sect. Joren has shown both. His serpent manifests powerfully, his command steady. From this day forward, he will train personally under Master Halvek."
Gasps broke through the disciples. To be taken under Halvek meant more than privilege; it meant direct access to the sect's deepest techniques.
Kaelen's lips curved in the faintest smile, one hidden by the fall of his hair. The sect was quick to anoint their prodigy, as expected. He let his serpent remain faint and unimpressive, its dull coils nearly invisible at his feet. That suited him. The shadows gave him room to move.
The ceremony concluded with applause. Joren basked in it, though he did so with the polished restraint of one who knew every eye was upon him. He was already thinking three steps ahead, already imagining where this honor might lead.
Kaelen turned away before the cheers ended.
That night, the disciples dispersed back to their quarters, buzzing with stories of the Vale. Some exaggerated Joren's strikes until he sounded like a god of war. Others whispered of the stag's terrifying bellow. Only a few mentioned how Kaelen's squad had stood at all.
Inside his assigned chamber, Kaelen sat cross-legged in silence. His serpent lay curled before him, faint but steady. His eyes half-closed, he let his Insight slip deeper into his Soul Palace.
The memory of the stag's Qi flow burned bright. The erratic surges, the ruptured channels—he traced them in his mind, unraveling their patterns, shaping them into something new. The pain that lanced through his skull was sharp but familiar, the cost of molding raw knowledge into a technique of his own.
Outside, laughter echoed faintly. Joren's name rose above the noise, celebrated again and again.
Kaelen's serpent shifted, eyes glinting faintly. Its presence was small, but inside the Palace, something stirred. Threads of corrupted essence unraveled into fragments of technique. He drew them in, weaving. Slowly, deliberately.
Elsewhere in the sect, Joren sat in a hall washed in lantern light. Elders questioned him closely about the Vale battle, their approval clear in every nod. Servants poured tea at his side, subtle gestures of deference.
But for all his composure, Joren's gaze sharpened when Kaelen's name was briefly mentioned by a junior disciple.
"The gray serpent?" one elder scoffed. "An oddity at best. He followed orders, nothing more."
The subject was dismissed quickly.
Joren kept his expression serene, but the thought lingered. He remembered the flicker of precision in Kaelen's movements, the strange way the stag had faltered. It gnawed at him.
Back in his chamber, Kaelen opened his eyes. Blood ran from his nose, streaking his lips, but he didn't wipe it away. His serpent lifted its head, flicking its tongue once.
The first shape of a stolen technique pulsed inside him, crude but alive. He smiled faintly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Keep praising Joren. Keep watching him." His serpent coiled tighter. "I'll take what I need from the shadows."