The mountain felt louder these days. Not in noise but in mood, in the restless energy that rolled through the courtyards and practice fields. Since the Vale mission, disciples trained harder, whispered more often, and always measured themselves against the boy with the golden serpent.
Joren.
His name clung to the air like incense smoke. Praised. Resented. Admired. Envied. Kaelen heard it everywhere he walked, and though he kept his head down, he never stopped listening.
That morning, Elder Su assembled the disciples in the eastern pavilion, where sunlight streamed through carved jade lattices and painted shifting patterns across the floor. Joren stood at the front, serpent gleaming bright, the jade commendation token hanging openly from his sash.
"Excellence inspires," Elder Su declared, voice heavy with approval. "But it also demands responsibility. Joren will assist in instructing the younger disciples this week, sharing the methods that brought him strength."
A ripple ran through the hall. Some faces lit with eagerness. Others tightened, lips thin, eyes shadowed with envy. Kaelen's gaze flicked across the crowd, catching each shift, each tightening jaw, each clenched fist.
Joren bowed smoothly, as though the role had been his birthright all along.
"Of course, Elder," he said, voice carrying easily. "It will be my honor to guide them."
Kaelen could almost hear the teeth grinding in the back rows.
Later, when the training grounds filled with clashing serpents and barked instructions, Joren strode among the squads like a minor elder himself. He corrected stances, adjusted flows, demonstrated techniques with a serpent that glowed too brightly to ignore.
"Watch carefully," he told a group of wide-eyed juniors, striking a flawless arc of Qi that left a faint scorch in the sand. "Power isn't in brute force but in precision. If you can master this much, perhaps you'll stand on the same stage one day."
Laughter followed—his own squad mates chuckling, juniors nodding in awe, but others muttered at the edges. Kaelen caught the words carried on the wind:
"Easy to preach when the Pavilion's doors were opened for him.""Does he think the rest of us blind?""Elder Su's puppet, that's all."
The cracks were small, but they were there. Kaelen filed them away.
That night, when the courtyards quieted and lanterns burned low, Kaelen slipped into the shadow of the northern cliffs. Here, the stone walls were slick with moss, and the sound of dripping water covered the noise of movement.
He wasn't alone.
"You there," a voice snapped from the path. A disciple with a serpent faintly coiled around his shoulders stepped into view. His serpent was larger than Kaelen's husk, though still unimpressive compared to Joren's radiance. "Why skulk in the dark? Afraid of proper training?"
Kaelen lowered his gaze, shoulders hunched. "No. Just avoiding the crowd."
The disciple sneered. "Cowards always say that. Fight me. Unless you're nothing but a shadow clinging to scraps."
Kaelen's heart steadied. He had wanted practice—just not like this. Still, the opportunity was here, and opportunities were rare.
He inclined his head. "As you wish."
They clashed in the shadow of the cliffs, serpents lashing. The other disciple struck first, fast and eager to humiliate. His serpent darted with a snap of fangs, Qi rushing through its body like a torrent.
Kaelen moved subtly, drawing on his Insight. He traced the meridian flows of his opponent in real time, watching the surges, the stumbles, the weak points. He didn't need to overpower. He needed to redirect.
The serpent husk around him flickered, faint silver light lacing its coils. Kaelen timed his movements with precision, sliding aside just enough to let the attack skim past. His counter was a spiral, small, controlled, the technique he'd stolen from the corrupted beast in the Vale.
The other serpent jolted, scales smoking faintly where the spiral touched. Its master flinched, surprised by the unexpected sting.
"What—?"
Kaelen didn't press. He simply returned to stillness, serpent fading back to shadow. "You attacked. I defended. That's all."
The disciple scowled, but something in his eyes had shifted. Wariness. Doubt. Perhaps even the first seed of suspicion.
"Stay out of my path," he muttered, withdrawing with his serpent trailing smoke.
Kaelen exhaled slowly, pulse steady, serpent curling faint in the Soul Palace again. He had tested his technique against live resistance—and it held. Not yet powerful, not yet refined, but viable.
Still, he could not afford to let word spread. Not yet.
In the following days, Joren's star burned brighter still. Elder Su invited him to spar in front of the assembly, and though Joren's opponent fought fiercely, he fell in three swift exchanges. The crowd roared approval.
But Kaelen noticed something else: the tightening jaws of the elders on the opposite dais, their disciples scowling in the crowd. Power was currency, and Joren was hoarding too much too quickly.
Afterward, Kaelen passed through the courtyards, ears open.
"Elder Su parades him like a prize stallion.""Do they think the rest of us don't see the favoritism?""He's strong, yes, but not invincible."
Kaelen let the whispers curl around him. Joren's crown was already heavy, and arrogance made it heavier still. The sect's balance was shifting, and when balance shifted, someone always fell.
That night, Kaelen trained again in secret. The spiral flowed sharper now, more fluid, and his serpent glimmered faintly brighter in the Soul Palace. Each session left his body aching, but the ache was a map, a reminder that he was carving his own path in silence.
He thought of Joren's bright serpent, of the elders' approving nods, of the whispers festering in the shadows.
"Climb higher," Kaelen whispered to the night. "The farther you rise, the more the fall will break you."
And with that, he returned to his training, hidden beneath the stone, sharpening a blade that no one yet knew existed.