The quiet boy crouched near the fire, carving invisible lines into the dirt with a stick. He hadn't spoken a word since their journey began, and even now—after two days of walking with Baek Sun-Ho and the others—his silence felt more deliberate than shy.
Sun-Ho sat nearby, arms crossed.
"Let's give you a name."
The boy didn't respond. Just kept drawing lines.
So-Ri raised an eyebrow. "What's the point? He doesn't talk."
"That's the point," Sun-Ho replied with a grin. "Which is why I'm naming him something incredibly ironic."
He leaned toward the boy, smirked, and said, "From now on, you're Yeon."
So-Ri blinked. "Yeon… as in connection? Sociability?"
Sun-Ho nodded proudly. "Exactly. He's about as social as a mountain rock. It's perfect."
Ma-Rok, who was polishing his gauntlets, grunted. "You're naming him after the one thing he's clearly not?"
"It's aspirational," Sun-Ho said. "Maybe he'll feel pressured into living up to it. And if not, well… at least it'll make every introduction awkward."
So-Ri chuckled despite herself. Yeon didn't react. But after a long pause, he stopped drawing in the dirt and looked up at Sun-Ho. Just for a second. And nodded.
---
Choosing to Follow
Later that morning, as they packed up camp, Yul-Rin approached Sun-Ho directly. Her tone, as always, was unreadable.
"You're not what I expected."
"Do you mean that in the good way or the 'why am I here' way?" Sun-Ho asked, tying his belt sash.
She studied him, then glanced at Ma-Rok, who stood leaning against a tree.
"We'll travel with you. Not for pay. Not for orders. Just to see what kind of storm you're planning to stir."
"Could be a firestorm," Sun-Ho said. "Could just be a mild breeze."
Ma-Rok folded his arms. "Long as it's not boring."
Sun-Ho grinned. "Oh, I can't promise that."
So-Ri looked between them. "They don't even know what he is."
Sun-Ho gave her a side-glance. "And let's keep it that way."
---
The Cunning Candle Trick
In a roadside village they passed by midday, they found a market being bullied by low-rank disciples from a backwater sect.
An old vendor woman was being pushed for "road tax." Ma-Rok started forward, fury in his eyes—but Sun-Ho stopped him with a raised hand.
"No need for fists."
He stepped forward and whispered a few words to the vendor.
Then, seemingly casually, he ignited a candle with a spark from his fingertip. Just a flicker.
Tchk.
He placed it by a stack of incense and strolled away.
Moments later, a gust of wind hit the stall.
Wheee—BOOF!
A harmless but extremely loud puff of smoke exploded in the direction of the bullies, dousing their faces in powdery ash.
The disciples panicked, slipped on spilled rice sacks, and fled in a flurry of shouts and curses.
The old woman laughed heartily.
---
Loyalty... with Doubts
As they resumed their walk, Yul-Rin narrowed her eyes.
"That was… oddly manipulative."
Sun-Ho shrugged. "Who needs swords when you have smoke and superstition?"
Ma-Rok muttered, "We might be following a madman."
So-Ri, barely hiding her grin, added, "He's not a madman. Just occasionally genius in the most roundabout ways."
Yeon, walking beside them, cracked the faintest hint of a smile.
---
Teaching Fire, Controlling Storms
That evening, they camped beside a glistening river bend. Sun-Ho sat with Yeon by the water, coaxing the boy through small Qi control exercises.
"Don't force it. Fire doesn't obey shouting. It listens when you're quiet," he said softly, guiding Yeon's fingers.
So-Ri watched them from a short distance, occasionally stepping in to correct Yeon's posture or offer water.
When Yeon finally managed to create a small spark that floated for two seconds—
Fsshh.
—the boy didn't smile. But he looked at Sun-Ho with something new in his eyes.
Trust.
So-Ri whispered, "You're good with him."
Sun-Ho replied without turning, "He reminds me of someone."
---
The Memory Beneath the Surface
Later, after everyone had turned in, Sun-Ho sat alone with Yeon still awake beside him, tracing lines again in the dirt. The fire crackled low.
Then it hit him.
A scent. A shadow. A line from long ago.
His breath caught as a memory unfurled like mist rising from the earth.
He was seventeen. Standing in a field just after a storm.
A younger disciple knelt before him, weeping after failing a technique.
Sun-Ho, dressed in flowing robes that shimmered with faint flames, knelt and said,
> "It's alright to break once in a while. Even the strongest iron must be forged more than once."
"You don't win because you're the best. You win because you endure."
The boy looked up at him through tears, nodding.
Sun-Ho smiled, patting his head.
The fire snapped in the present.
Crack.
Sun-Ho blinked. His chest tightened.
His Qi pulsed—faint but undeniable.
> That memory… that feeling…
His body responded like it recognized itself again.
The heat surged faintly in his core.
But he said nothing.
Just stared at the fire as a flicker of his past rippled into the now.
---
[End of Chapter 17]