The safehold's hall was never meant for light. Its walls were carved into the mountain's belly, lit only by oil lamps that smoked and sputtered. Shadows clung thick to the stone, as if the place itself wished to swallow every secret spoken inside.
Tonight, the shadows felt heavier. Tonight, the captains gathered.
We were summoned at dawn — myself, Wei Lan with her ever-swinging gourd, Qiao Han bristling with restless energy, and Shen Yu clutching his ink-stained scrolls. We walked the long corridor in silence, only the scrape of our boots echoing.
Silent Reed led us, but his steps betrayed nothing. He did not glance back. He did not speak. That alone told me the truth: whatever awaited us in that hall was not his design.
When the doors opened, the weight of eyes struck like a blade.
* * * * * * * * *
The captains sat in a crescent, their black lotus sigils stitched larger, brighter than ours. They commanded not a handful of wolves like I did, but whole packs. Cells, squads, some even entire branches of the Lotus web. Each one a predator, and we had been called before them like prey.
Thirteen lamps burned behind them, each flame marking a voice of the council. The smoke curled together above, twisting like a single serpent of shadow.
Reed took his place at the far left, silent, arms folded.
The captain at the center spoke first. Her voice was low, smooth, and sharp as glass. "Lin Xuan. Wolves of Reed's cell. You stand accused of drawing eyes upon the Lotus."
My wolves stiffened. Wei Lan's smile widened. Qiao Han's jaw flexed. Shen Yu nearly dropped his brush.
I stepped forward, head bowed but eyes steady. "Accused by whom, Captain?"
A ripple of amusement passed through the crescent.
"By flame and iron both," said another voice — deeper, gruff, a man whose beard was streaked with white. "Crimson Flame whispers that shadows fed their fire. Iron Hand claims Lotus hands pointed them to their enemy. Both sniff at our walls, both taste smoke."
Silence followed. The smoke above seemed to coil tighter.
* * * * * * * * *
Then, from the far right, another voice: cold, precise, carrying the weight of authority without needing volume.
Captain Iron Veil.
I had heard whispers of him even before my rebirth — a man who hunted lies like others hunted prey. His face was half-shrouded by a thin black veil, leaving only his eyes visible. Eyes that missed nothing.
"Your leash is sloppy," Iron Veil said. "Your actions loud. You leash a lieutenant, and within days, sects clash. Did you think such noise would not rattle the halls above you?"
Wei Lan's lips twitched. "Perhaps noise is useful. After all, it brings captains together."
Iron Veil's gaze snapped to her. She went silent, her smile unbroken, but I saw her throat move as she swallowed.
His eyes returned to me. "Answer, Lin Xuan. Did you feed the storm?"
* * * * * * * * *
The hall grew colder.
Qiao Han tensed beside me, hand twitching near his saber. Shen Yu's brush scratched furiously, though his hand trembled so badly his words were nearly illegible.
I lifted my head, meeting Iron Veil's stare. "No, Captain. I did not feed it. I leashed one enemy to silence. The storm was already there, waiting. Fire and iron have long itched for each other's throats. All I did was bind a flame to my leash, so its sparks would not burn me."
A murmur passed through the crescent. Some captains nodded faintly, as though the logic rang true. Others frowned, seeing in my words the subtle deflection.
Iron Veil leaned forward slightly. "And yet sparks became infernos the moment you bound them. Do you call that chance?"
His words were a knife, probing for weakness.
I let silence stretch, then bowed my head once more. "I call it inevitability. The Lotus does not start storms. The Lotus endures them. My leash only proved how weak their bonds already were."
* * * * * * * * *
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the bearded captain grunted. "The boy has a tongue, that's certain."
Another captain, a thin woman with ink-stained hands, said, "And perhaps too sharp a quill in his scribe." Her eyes flicked to Shen Yu, whose brush slipped from his grip at her gaze.
The hall chuckled softly.
Wei Lan's smile widened. Qiao Han clenched his fists. Shen Yu shook like a reed in wind.
And I stood still, the storm of eyes swirling around me, waiting for the blade to fall.
* * * * * * * * *
It did not.
Instead, the central captain raised her hand. Silence returned at once.
"Lin Xuan," she said. "Your leash is daring. Reckless, perhaps. But the Lotus does not discard tools while they are sharp. You will continue to serve under Reed. But understand this: every leash is a chain that may wrap your own throat. Fail, and we will tighten it."
Her words struck like a brand. A reprieve, yes — but a warning louder than iron.
The captains rose as one. The lamps guttered out, smoke curling upward like a final judgment.
The council was over.
* * * * * * * * *
As we filed out, Iron Veil's gaze followed me. He did not move, did not speak — but his eyes burned into my back, branding me with suspicion.
I knew then: he would not forget me. He would not stop watching.
The wolves walked behind me in silence. Only Wei Lan dared break it, her whisper low and sweet.
"They marked you, Leader. A delicious mark. You're no longer just a wolf. You're bait for bigger prey."
Qiao Han grunted. "Let them come. We'll cut them down."
Shen Yu muttered, half to himself, "The Lotus devours its own. It always does. Always does…"
And I, walking between them, felt the weight of chains — fire's chains, iron's chains, Lotus' chains.
Every leash was tightening.
* * * * * * * * *
The council's smoke still clung to me long after we left the hall.
I felt it in my lungs, tasted it in my mouth. The lamps had guttered out, but their shadows had not — they followed, stretching behind every step.
Iron Veil's gaze weighed heaviest of all. Those eyes did not look at me as prey or pawn. They looked at me as a lie waiting to be broken.
* * * * * * * * *
Silent Reed did not speak until we returned to our den. Then, at last, he turned, cloak brushing the stone.
"You live." His tone was neither praise nor relief. Merely fact.
I inclined my head. "For now."
His eyes lingered, sharp as ever. "You are noticed. That is both power and danger. Some captains will use you. Some will break you. All will watch you."
Wei Lan giggled, swinging her gourd. "Mmm. Sounds like fun."
Qiao Han grunted. "Let them watch. They'll choke if they stare too long."
Shen Yu whispered, "They… they'll choke us instead."
Reed silenced them all with a glance, then fixed me with his stare. "Lin Xuan. You weave storms fast. Too fast. Pray your web does not collapse before it hardens."
Then he left us, vanishing into shadow.
* * * * * * * * *
That night, I trained again.
The courtyard stones were cold, but sweat soon slicked them. My knuckles were bandaged but still raw. My ribs ached with every breath.
I forced myself lower, harder — pushups with stones on my back, squats until my thighs quivered, strikes against the wooden post until blood seeped through cloth.
Every beat of pain whispered the same truth: your body is leash. And every drop of sweat answered: then I will break it.
* * * * * * * * *
Qiao Han joined me first.
"Still at it?" he said, dropping his saber with a clang. "Good. I was starting to think you only had words."
He dropped beside me, muscles rippling as he slammed into pushups. His form was better, his body stronger, but I did not stop. I matched him, breath ragged, sweat stinging my eyes.
"Sloppy stance," he muttered.
"Overextended elbow," I shot back between breaths.
His grin widened. "Hah. You've got bite after all."
When I faltered, when my arms nearly gave, he shoved me back up with his shoulder. "Don't quit, Leader. Not until you fall on your face. That's when training begins."
And for the first time, there was no mockery in his voice. Only respect, grudging but real.
* * * * * * * * *
Wei Lan appeared next, perched atop the wall like a cat. She sipped from her gourd, eyes glinting.
"Two dogs sweating in the dirt," she drawled. "Tell me, Leader — why grind flesh when poison kills without effort?"
"Because flesh can endure when poison runs dry," I answered.
Her smile sharpened. "Endurance is boring. Collapse is beautiful." She licked her lips. "Still… I enjoy watching you break."
She stayed until dawn, silent witness to every drop of blood I left on stone.
* * * * * * * * *
Shen Yu lingered furthest, quill scratching. He muttered constantly under his breath, ink blotting the page.
I glimpsed words in the lamplight: dangerous… too fast… captains watch… storm may consume us all…
He was no longer recording orders. He was recording fear. And fear, written, was a blade others could use.
I said nothing, but I saw. And I knew: his leash frayed thinner every night.
* * * * * * * * *
Three days passed this way — training, bleeding, enduring.
Then, on the fourth, a runner came.
He wore Lotus black, but no cell's sigil. He bowed to Reed, handed him a sealed letter, and vanished without a word.
Reed broke the seal in silence. His eyes flicked over the script once, twice. His jaw tightened slightly — the only sign of reaction.
He folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve.
When he turned to me, his voice was as calm as ever. "Lin Xuan. The Lotus tests you now."
The air seemed to still.
"Test me how?" I asked.
Reed's lips curved faintly, almost cruelly. "You will know soon. Pray you survive the hand that feeds shadows."
Then he left, the letter hidden, the meaning heavier than any blade.
* * * * * * * * *
That night, as my body trembled under stone weight, as blood dripped onto the courtyard floor, I whispered to myself:
"Storms outside. Chains inside. Every leash tightens. So I must weave faster. Stronger. Or be strangled."
And still I pushed. And still I endured.
Because fragility was death. And I had died once already.