The Vale did not wait long to bare its fangs.
By the second day, the forest's air grew denser, laden with metallic tang, as if every breath dragged rust across the tongue. Birds no longer called overhead. Even the insects seemed to hush.
The lead senior disciple slowed, one hand lifted. "Form tight ranks. Something's near."
Branches quivered. Leaves shivered though no wind stirred. Then the undergrowth split apart, and the creatures came.
Boar-things, each the size of a wagon, tusks warped into jagged blades, hides mottled with glowing veins of corrupted Qi. Their eyes gleamed red, blind with frenzy. Behind them, smaller shapes—dozens of warped vermin, scuttling on too many legs.
"Hold the line!" the senior barked. Serpents flared into being, light and shadow clashing as the juniors scrambled to take their positions.
Joren leapt forward before anyone else, his jade serpent gleaming like a brand. It coiled around his arm, lengthening with the swell of Qi, and struck at the first boar, biting deep into its throat. The beast screamed, flailing. Cheers rang out from his allies.
Kaelen moved with the rest, but slower, slipping into the rear flank where eyes were fewer. His serpent emerged faint, translucent, its coils shivering as if it might dissolve at any moment.
One of the juniors snarled, "Keep up, shadow!"
But Kaelen did not rush. He waited. Watched. The corrupted flows in the beasts' veins glimmered like veins of fire in stone. Every tusk swing, every trampling step carved lines of power through the air.
When the vermin broke through the line, scattering toward the weaker juniors, Kaelen struck.
His serpent darted, fangs grazing a beast's leg—not tearing, not shattering, but tasting. The vermin shrieked, staggering, its flow of Qi sputtering for an instant. That instant gave another disciple time to drive his serpent home, killing it outright.
The boy blinked, surprised. He hadn't noticed Kaelen at all.
Kaelen drew back, quiet, unreadable. Inside, his serpent pulsed. That taste—it carried more than the hound's before. A sharper bite of corruption, something that hissed in his veins. He smothered it quickly, before anyone could notice the way his serpent's eyes glimmered faint silver in the Soul Palace.
The battle stretched longer. The boars were relentless, crashing against the line, forcing even the seniors to grit their teeth. Joren shone brightest, serpent blazing with each kill, his confidence swelling with every cheer.
When the final beast collapsed, the juniors slumped, exhausted, their robes torn and stained. Joren wiped his brow, serpent shrinking back into his arm with a hiss of satisfaction.
"We wouldn't have lasted without me," he said loudly, voice meant for the seniors' ears.
And indeed, the seniors nodded approval. "You carry yourself well," one said. "Keep this up, and the elders will take notice."
Kaelen, standing at the fringe, drew no such praise. He hadn't tried for any. His robe was dusted with vermin ichor, his serpent coiled faintly at his side, dim as smoke.
One of Joren's allies sneered openly. "Nearly useless. Did you see him flinch every time?"
Laughter followed, sharp and derisive.
Kaelen's gaze lowered. His silence held. Yet within, his serpent stirred, the taste of corruption still circling like fire in the blood. He had learned more in this single fight than Joren's bright victories could ever grant.
That night, when the campfires burned low, Kaelen slipped a little apart from the others. He sat cross-legged in the shadows, where no one cared to look.
His serpent manifested in full, faint coils shimmering in the night air. Its eyes were bright now, slitted and silver, as if hunger gnawed at it.
Kaelen pressed his palm to the ground, remembering the currents that had coursed through the beasts. He replayed them in his mind, tracing them with the precision his Insight alone could grant. He mimicked the flows, bent his serpent's Qi to mirror the corrupted rhythm.
The serpent convulsed, flickered—and for a heartbeat, its fangs glowed with a pale edge not its own.
Pain stabbed through his chest, sharp and burning. He clenched his jaw, forcing the flow back into order, sweat dampening his brow.
Dangerous. Reckless. Forbidden.
And yet… progress.
His serpent coiled tighter around his arm, pressing its head against his wrist as if it too longed to strike.
From the camp, laughter rang—Joren, boasting loudly of his kills. Kaelen's lips thinned.
Let him shine.
For now.