The sect rarely wasted time. When doubt crept in, the elders moved quickly, like surgeons probing a wound.
Three days after the duel, a summons rang across the mountain:"All outer disciples are to gather at the Stone Arena at dawn."
The message spread with equal parts dread and excitement. Some expected punishment. Others whispered of opportunity. By sunrise, the tiers of the Stone Arena were packed, the cold air buzzing with anticipation.
Kaelen stood among the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back. The mountain breeze carried faint traces of resin and stone dust. He could feel the unease in the bodies around him—the way disciples shifted, glanced, whispered.
The elders entered together, their robes trailing across the sand. Elder Su led the way, her expression iron-straight. Elder Ren followed, eyes sharp beneath his hood. Elder Huo, ever the hawk, scanned the rows with his hands folded behind his back.
When Elder Su spoke, her voice cracked through the air like a blade.
"Too many of you grow complacent in drills and lectures. A serpent that does not coil, strikes weak. Today, we measure you—not by words, not by claims, but by your own strength."
A hush fell.
Elder Huo gestured, and the arena floor shifted. Stone slabs groaned and split open, revealing lines carved into the sand—sigils glowing faintly with Qi. With a flick of his hand, spirit beasts emerged from the lines: conjured illusions of wolves, stags, scaled birds, each one radiating a sharp, contained pressure.
Murmurs swept the arena. Testing illusions. They were weaker than true beasts, but dangerous enough to reveal weakness.
"Pairs," Elder Ren said, his voice smooth, almost amused. "Face the beasts before you. Show us what you have learned."
The disciples tensed. This was no routine drill. It was a measure—one where every move would be seen, weighed, remembered.
Kaelen let himself be pushed to the middle of the group. Attention rushed elsewhere: Dalen, stepping calmly into the sand with his slate serpent at his side. Joren, striding forward as if the arena already belonged to him.
Their beasts roared as they struck down the illusions, drawing scattered gasps from the watching disciples. Joren's serpent gleamed brilliantly, coils flashing with golden light as it crushed a scaled wolf into sparks.
"Magnificent," someone whispered.
"Did you see Dalen's control?" another muttered.
Kaelen lowered his eyes. He knew better than to compete in spectacle.
When his name was called, he stepped into the arena quietly. His serpent manifested faintly at his side—small, silver-grey, unimpressive against the brilliance of the others. Snickers rose from the crowd.
"Barely visible.""Why does he even bother?"
Kaelen ignored them. The illusion before him shifted, taking the form of a stag with crackling horns. It pawed the ground, sparks flickering at its hooves.
He did not rush. He breathed, letting the faint pulse of his serpent thread through his veins. The silver light coiled tighter, hidden from most eyes.
The stag lunged.
Kaelen stepped aside, his serpent snapping forward—not with a blaze of light, but with a whispering coil. It struck low, at the joint of the stag's leg. A precise cut, so quick most missed it. The beast stumbled, fell, dissolved into sparks.
The crowd blinked, muttering. Some dismissed it as luck. Others frowned, sensing something too clean, too controlled.
Kaelen bowed slightly, expression neutral, and stepped back into line.
From the dais, the elders watched.
Elder Su's lips barely moved. "Unimpressive display."Elder Ren's smile tugged at the corners. "Or a careful one."Elder Huo said nothing, but his hawk-like eyes lingered on Kaelen longer than the others.
By midday, the tests ended. The strongest shone—Joren's serpent gleaming, Dalen's precision admired, a handful of others proving themselves steady. The weaker faltered, some humiliated before their peers.
The disciples dispersed in a rush of chatter, each eager to twist the results into a story that would lift or cut their rivals.
Kaelen walked in silence, slipping into the shadow of the cliffs. His serpent pulsed faintly within him, coiling tighter, stretching against its husk. He could feel it molting again, unseen.
The whispers of the crowd didn't matter. The elders' silence mattered more. One had seen him. That was enough.
That night, as the mountain settled into darkness, Kaelen trained alone beneath the pines. He replayed every motion, every spark of the stag illusion, refining the lines in his mind. His Spectral Meridian Insight pulsed faintly, recalling the pathways of Qi, memorizing the stag's technique for his own use.
A faint ache burned through his veins, but he did not stop. Every fragment was a weapon. Every silence was a shield.
Far above, in the elder's chambers, Joren's name was praised again—loudly, formally, publicly. But Kaelen knew that praise rang thinner now, less certain, a little forced.
Cracks widened silently, like ice on stone.
And he would be there when the mountain broke.