The morning after the Awakening Ceremony felt… different.
The same rooster crowed, the same smell of smoke from cooking fires drifted into his room, but Jin Yang sensed something new in the air. Or perhaps it wasn't the air at all—it was him.
When he sat up, the faint golden warmth was still there, pulsing quietly in his chest like a second heartbeat. He closed his eyes and focused, and the warmth stirred, flowing into his right hand. With a thought, light flared—soft this time—and the golden bow materialized in his grip.
It was smaller now, its form compact and manageable, but the intricate patterns still shimmered faintly. He ran a hand along its curve, feeling the subtle vibration beneath his fingers.
So it wasn't just a dream.
He dismissed it with another thought, and the bow dissolved into motes of light. A small grin tugged at his lips. Surya Pratama, the failed office worker from Jakarta, had awakened a divine-grade martial soul in Soul Land.
"Still playing with that thing?"
Jin Yang looked up to see Uncle Ma leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. The old man's sharp eyes scanned him up and down.
"It's not a toy," Jin Yang replied evenly.
"I know," Uncle Ma said. "That's why I'm here."
He stepped inside and sat down on the low stool across from Jin Yang. "Listen to me, boy. Yesterday you awakened something rare. Rare means valuable. Valuable means people will want it—some will want to take it from you."
Jin Yang's smile faded.
Uncle Ma continued, "In this land, power isn't just about cultivation. It's about surviving those who see you as a stepping stone. Never forget that."
"I won't," Jin Yang promised.
"Good," Uncle Ma said, standing. "Then we'll start your training today."
They barely had time to eat breakfast before a knock sounded at the door.
The Spirit Master from yesterday stood outside, his silver-and-blue robes immaculate despite the dust of the village road.
"Jin Yang," he said without preamble. "The City's Primary Spirit Master Academy is accepting new students. With your talent, you'll be admitted instantly."
Jin Yang hesitated. He already knew from the original Soul Land stories that academies were the gateway to power—but also the start of entanglements.
"I'll think about it," he said carefully.
The Spirit Master frowned, clearly unused to hesitation from village children. "Don't think too long. Talents like yours are wasted here."
When the man left, Uncle Ma glanced at Jin Yang. "What's your decision?"
"Not yet," Jin Yang said. "Before I step into their world, I want to understand my own strength."
By mid-morning, they were walking toward the small forest east of Red Willow Village. Uncle Ma carried a short spear and a hunting knife. Jin Yang carried nothing—at least, nothing visible.
The forest was alive with birdsong and the rustle of small animals in the underbrush.
"This isn't for a spirit ring," Uncle Ma reminded him. "We're just testing your martial soul in the real world. Some spirit beasts are harmless, but others… are not."
They walked deeper, the canopy filtering sunlight into shifting patterns on the ground. Jin Yang felt the golden warmth in his chest grow stronger, as if the bow wanted to be summoned.
A sudden rustle came from the bushes ahead.
"Step back," Uncle Ma ordered.
From the undergrowth hopped a creature no taller than Jin Yang's knee. It resembled a hare, but its fur shimmered with faint silver patterns, and its eyes glowed faintly blue.
"Silver-Eyed Swift Hare," Uncle Ma murmured. "Ten years old at most. Fast and skittish, but harmless unless cornered."
Jin Yang summoned his bow. The golden light spread through the forest clearing, startling the hare. He pulled the string, and to his surprise, a glowing arrow of pure light formed instantly.
He aimed—not at the creature, but at a rock beside it—and released.
The arrow struck the rock with a thunk, leaving a shallow scorch mark.
The hare bolted.
"Good control," Uncle Ma said, though his eyes were still on the scorched stone. "But remember—power without purpose is just noise."
They were turning back toward the village when a faint cry reached them.
It was a child's voice, sharp with fear.
Jin Yang and Uncle Ma sprinted toward the sound, weaving through the trees until they reached a small clearing. A boy—maybe six years old—was backed against a tree, a wooden stick clutched in trembling hands.
Opposite him crouched a creature unlike any Jin Yang had seen. It was wolf-like, but its fur was streaked with black and green, and faint wisps of toxic mist curled from its jaws.
"Poison Fang Wolf," Uncle Ma said grimly. "Thirty years, maybe forty. Dangerous."
Before he could move, Jin Yang stepped forward. The golden bow flared into existence.
The wolf's eyes locked on him, its lips curling in a snarl.
Jin Yang drew the string. Light condensed into an arrow, brighter and sharper than before. His breathing slowed. The world narrowed to the wolf's gleaming eyes.
He loosed the arrow.
The arrow struck true, hitting the wolf in the shoulder. It howled, staggering back, but didn't fall. Instead, it lunged.
Jin Yang sidestepped, nocking another arrow in a single motion. The second shot hit the wolf's chest, and this time, the creature collapsed, the golden light burning away the last of the poisonous mist.
Silence fell.
The child stared at him wide-eyed. Uncle Ma exhaled slowly. "Not bad… for your first fight."
Jin Yang dismissed the bow and walked over to the boy, helping him up. "You're safe now. Go home."
The boy ran off, glancing back once, as if committing Jin Yang's face to memory.
On the way back to the village, Jin Yang noticed something strange. The wolf's poison mist had dissipated quickly, but a faint green mark lingered on the ground where it died—like a scar in the earth.
When he touched it, a flicker of something flashed in his mind—a shadowed figure, eyes burning red, standing amidst a battlefield of corpses.
It was gone in an instant, leaving him breathless.
"Something wrong?" Uncle Ma asked.
"Nothing," Jin Yang said quickly. But inside, he knew that moment was not nothing. It was a glimpse of the path ahead.
And like Karna before him, he would face it head-on, no matter the cost.