Chapter 37: Ashes and Aspirants
The Emberlight sparring grounds had never felt so crowded.
Dozens of disciples now filled the arena floor — some seasoned, others green, all drawn in by the chance to represent their sect at the Inter-Disciplinary Tournament. Word had spread quickly: the invitation wasn't limited to the elite. Any disciple, no matter how unknown, could try their luck in the pre-selection trials.
Ren stood at the center of the ring, sweat beading his brow. He had just finished a match — one of many that morning — and his knuckles throbbed with dull heat.
He was winning.
But he wasn't unopposed.
Across the ring, a tall boy with twin daggers lay unconscious, twitching slightly from the final blow Ren had landed. Around them, murmurs stirred from onlookers.
"That's his fifth straight win."
"That's the Verdant Wilds survivor, right?"
"No, that's Kai's friend. The one who trained under Vale."
Ren ignored the voices. He didn't need their recognition. He wasn't here for praise.
He was here to walk forward.
Vale nodded at him from the instructor's platform, arms folded, expression unreadable. "Next," she called.
—
One by one, new names were shouted into the arena.
Jeno — a wiry boy with spiked hair and cocky footwork. Quick, but too predictable.
Myla — short, stocky, strong, but lacked endurance.
Derrik — loud, brash, tried to overpower with raw strength. He didn't last a minute.
Each fell or bowed out within minutes. Ren won cleanly but didn't gloat. Each victory felt… functional. Necessary. But never triumphant.
He bowed after every match. Helped up anyone who needed it. It wasn't showmanship.
It was who he was becoming.
—
"Hinara of the Inner Wellspring," the announcer called next.
A girl stepped forward.
Slender. Calm. Not flashy. Her long black hair was tied in a high braid, contrasting against her pale skin and the ember-red trim of her uniform. Her silver Emberlight insignia shimmered at her collarbone. But what made her stand out wasn't her appearance — it was the stillness.
Like a lake before a storm.
Ren blinked.
She's strong.
Their eyes met as they bowed.
Then the match began.
Hinara moved with precision. Not speed, not brute force — but calculation. Every strike she threw forced Ren off balance. Every dodge left him just slightly overextended.
He narrowed his stance. Shifted to a tighter guard. Adapted.
Then struck.
Their fists clashed midair, Ki rippling between them, and the ring lit with a soft hum.
Vale raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."
The fight ended in a draw after several minutes — not from exhaustion, but by mutual nod. A rare call in the sparring grounds.
As they left the ring, Hinara offered a respectful glance. "You fight with weight behind your will," she said.
Ren blinked. "You're no slouch either."
She smiled faintly — and this time, it lingered a second longer than it had to. "Let's not fall behind. If we're going to face the other sects, we'll need more than borrowed names."
Ren watched her walk away, the braid swinging gently with each step.
Then he looked down at his bruised fists.
No more borrowed names, he thought. Only the one I make for myself.
—
Outside the Arena
Later that evening, Ren wandered alone through the lower Emberlight gardens. The fireflies had begun to return for the season — their flickering lights dancing like fading stars.
He paused at the koi pond, remembering Kai sitting cross-legged beside it months ago, teaching him breathing rhythms.
He knelt down slowly and mirrored that posture.
But now, the quiet didn't remind him of loss.
It reminded him of growth.
Of silence earned through work, through pain, through every clash of fist and will.
And though he never said it aloud… a part of him hoped that somewhere, somehow, Kai felt it too.
That they were still walking the same path.
Even if from different ends.