Western edge of the Ember veil Forest, Ruona Continent.
After four days of silent flight, Jalen descended from the cloud line with the kind of weariness that settled more in the spirit than the bones. Not exhaustion—just a desire for pause. To feel earth again. To breathe something deeper than wind. He also needed a bath.
He drifted down in slow spirals, the hem of his robe fluttering with barely a whisper. Below, the forest waited—dense, ancient, and reverent. It pulsed faintly with spirit energy, untouched by formations or travelers. A forgotten seam of land stitched shut by time.
He landed at the edge of a lakeside glade.
Moss dampened his footsteps. The air held the rich stillness of wild places, and the lake beyond was so still it reflected the sky without a ripple. No qi distortions. No beast signs. Just old-growth serenity.
Jalen stepped forward, knelt at the water's edge, and let his fingers trail across the surface.
He didn't close his eyes. But he did let them soften. Just for a breath.
Then—heat.
He raised his head a half-breath before the voice cut the air:
"Die!"
A fireball screamed across the glade.
It burst from the tree line, wild and molten, cutting through air and shadow with blistering speed. Jalen's eyes barely flicked toward it. With a smooth, almost lazy motion, he swept his palm outward and batted the attack aside. The orb veered left, struck the water, and exploded in a hiss of steam.
Red-gold hair spilled loose, half-plastered to her cheek, catching sunlight like wire-drawn flame. Her eyes—not soft, not inviting—seethed with intent. Every motion she made sent steam blooming around her, like the glade itself couldn't decide if it should worship or flee
A girl surged from the lake's edge, wearing only a soaked inner robe—thin, clinging, and translucent in the worst ways. It hugged a frame sculpted from motion itself—lean, lithe, and dangerously fluid. Fire coiled in her palm, steam rose in wreaths from bare skin kissed by sunlight, and her presence hit like a blade unsheathed: unexpected, radiant, and almost too sharp to look at. She wasn't trying to captivate. She was captivating—because fury had made her beautiful in a way stillness never could.
"Pervert!" she spat. "I'm going to kill you."
A blade of fire surged into existence in her right hand, coalescing faster than breath. She lunged, weapon raised high.
Jalen lifted both hands, voice even. "Wait—this is a misunderstanding."
She didn't even blink. "How dare you watch me bathe?"
Jalen slid back, fire curling past his cheek as he raised his voice—not panicked, just annoyed.
"What? I didn't even know you were here until you started attacking me like a mad woman."
She ignored the words, too deep in rage to listen. Another blade spun into her hand.
He sighed. Should've swept the lake with spirit sense, he thought, pivoting around a vicious downswing. Could've avoided all this. It wasn't like him to skip a scan—he was just tired. Four days of sky and silence had dulled his edge. Now here he was: accused of peeping, dodging firestorms, and arguing with a blade-swinging stranger.
Ridiculous.
She struck low. He dodged.
"Die!"
Another arc came for his temple. He shifted past it like mist bending around stone.
On her third slash, the blade flared hotter—more focused. She barked a command, and a second sword lit her left hand, twin flames spinning in brutal harmony.
Jalen exhaled and drifted backward onto a moss-wrapped stone. This girl is crazy.
She was at the peak of the Pearl Realm. One of the strongest of her generation in Ember Fall. Her flames could melt stone, and her techniques had humbled sect disciples twice her age. And yet—this boy hadn't even drawn a weapon.
But that wasn't what truly unsettled her.
She couldn't sense him.
No pressure. No qi ripple. No cultivation haze at all. It was like trying to grasp vapor.
It didn't make sense.
Either he wore a concealment artifact refined beyond anything she'd seen… Or—and this twisted deeper than she liked—he possessed a level of internal control that didn't match his age or those simple robes. No prodigy she'd met could vanish like that. No one should be able to.
Her pride flared, sharp and refusing to be silenced.
She shifted her grip, slid one foot back, and chanted low. The heat responded. Eager. Familiar.
With a flick of her wrists, she launched her first true technique.
Ember Tongue.
Three flame whips cracked across the clearing. They moved like serpents—living fire born of spirit and intent.
Jalen stepped through them like dew parting under wind.
Her next spell came sharper—compressed heat in twin bolts—Twin Comet Fangs. They hurtled in from opposite flanks.
He leaned aside and let them pass.
Her pupils tightened. She reached for her final card—Sunborne Verdict—flame-qi drawn through her spine into the air above. A pillar of pure solar flame rained down.
He vanished.
Not blinked. Not flashed. Just… ceased.
Dance Like the Wind.
He didn't dodge the flame—he slipped between its rhythm, curved through its fury, and let the heat pass where he no longer stood.
A footstep crunched softly behind her. She spun.
He crouched again at the lake's edge, rinsing his fingers in silence.
She froze.
Each strike had failed. Blades. Techniques. Her strongest spells, her fastest feints—none of it mattered. He hadn't even defended. Just… slipped through.
Her blades stayed lit. But barely.
She didn't retreat. Not exactly. But the fire dimmed—not from exhaustion… but from disbelief.
What kind of cultivator swats away fire with a hand? Vanishes mid-technique? Doesn't even counter?
This one, she realized. And he wasn't what he looked like.
She hated the twist in her gut—the one that whispered curiosity under all that heat.
So she did the only thing that didn't make her feel smaller. She turned. Stormed away. Said nothing.
As she passed the mossy bank, she snatched up a folded outer robe and threw it over her shoulders—more armor than modesty. Her steps were sharp, but her silence was sharper.
And Jalen let her go as if nothing had happened.