The air in the room was still, touched by the faint scent of old parchment and burning incense. Shafts of golden light streamed through the open lattice windows, casting patterned shadows across the polished wooden floor. Huang Lie stood at the head of the chamber, his long robe brushing the smooth stone beneath him, his back straight as bamboo.
"You all are incredibly talented," his voice broke the silence, low yet firm, like a wind curling through pine trees. "One day, you'll become powerful cultivators."
Feng Jian leaned forward, the wooden bench creaking slightly beneath him. His eyes, bright as fireflies caught in a jar, locked onto his mentor. "What is it, Master?"
Huang Lie smiled, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes like the shimmer of dawn on lakewater. He stepped forward, his shadow stretching long under the amber light. "Today, we speak about something deeper than sword swings and spiritual ranks."
Outside, a breeze rustled the bamboo grove, its leaves whispering like secrets only the wind knew. The sound filtered in through the open doorway as Huang Lie continued, "Flames."
The word alone seemed to pulse with weight.
Mike, seated near the window where vines curled around the frame like ancient calligraphy, furrowed his brow. "Master, are you saying Flames are more important than techniques?"
"Much more," Huang Lie said, his hands clasped behind him. His shadow fell on the flickering oil lamp nearby, the flame inside bending as though bowing to his wisdom. "Techniques are crafted, passed down. But Flames… Flames are life essence. Raw, wild, divine. They aren't taught. They're earned."
Lei Hu shifted, a strand of wind brushing the dust along the stone path outside. "Then where do we find one?"
Huang Lie's gaze turned distant. His eyes caught the sky beyond the window—tinted pink and gold with the approach of evening, streaked with long, delicate clouds. "You don't find Flames. Flames find you… if you're willing to step into places others fear. Sacred caves… crumbling temples half-swallowed by forests… the heart of the Holy Tree itself."
Mike spoke again, his tone steady. "And they have ranks?"
"Yes," Huang Lie said. He pointed toward a tapestry on the wall that showed a phoenix engulfed in blazing yellow. "Mine is the Yellow Flame. A low rank—but steady, like the roots of a mountain."
The students nodded, each feeling a quiet ripple within.
Just then, the silence was broken by a distant gong echoing through the academy grounds. The mentors' voices followed like thunder after lightning.
"All students of the Outer Academy, report to the arena!"
Huang Lie turned, the silk of his robe whispering with movement. As he stepped outside, the group followed him down the winding path. Small pebbles crunched beneath their feet. Cherry blossom petals floated down from nearby trees, brushing the shoulders of passing students. Stone lanterns lined the walkway, moss creeping over their bases like slow time.
Ling Xue, her eyes reflecting the sky's soft hues, turned to her master. "If we qualify, I'll miss you, Master," she said, voice barely above the wind.
Huang Lie's laugh rolled out like thunder chased by sunlight. "You'll qualify. And remember—no matter where you go, I'll be watching from the shadows."
The group reached the outer arena—a circular platform surrounded by ancient stone statues of legendary cultivators, each worn smooth by time but still proud in stance. Flags fluttered above, bearing symbols of each team.
Mentors stood on the raised platform, robes billowing in the wind. "This year's annual competition begins now," one announced. "Only three teams will advance. No killing allowed. Fight with skill and honor."
The early matches blazed to life.
When it was Team 15's turn, they stepped forward beneath a sky streaked orange, the sun just beginning to sink behind the mountain ridges. The crowd gathered—students leaned on the stone balustrades, whispering, watching.
"Team 15 vs Team 14!" a voice boomed.
Feng Jian struck first—his blade a streak of silver that caught the sunlight, turning it into dancing arcs. His Continuous Sword Strike unfolded like a storm, his feet gliding over the worn stone surface of the arena.
Mike remained measured. His hammer swung with control—more like a guardian than a brute. Each impact shook the stone tiles beneath him, sending vibrations through the air. A swirl of dust lifted with every motion, blurring his silhouette.
Victory was theirs.
Cheers rang out, banners waved, and the scent of incense from the temple on the hill drifted faintly through the air. The Wall of Academy had advanced.
The next round began under a sky now deepening to violet, stars just beginning to glimmer like shy spirits. Five teams stood in the arena. One would fall.
Cao Cao entered like a tempest. His robe crackled with static, and the sky seemed to respond—a low rumble echoing as though the heavens acknowledged him.
His clash with Mike was a collision of storms. Sparks flew as Lightning Technique met the grounded might of hammer technique. Their moves sent loose gravel skittering across the platform. Each breath became fog in the cooling air.
Sweat beaded on Mike's brow. His muscles strained, not from fatigue—but from focus, from controlling every ounce of spiritual energy to hold his ground.
In the distance, high in a tower carved from white stone, Jian Wu looked out across the valley below. The distant sounds of battle reached him, faint as a lullaby. His fingers brushed the edge of the window ledge, rough with time.
"Mike…" he murmured, eyes locked on the horizon painted in hues of dusk. "Come find me."
The battle below raged on. Dust curled, swords sang, and two destinies clashed under a sky full of stars.