The clang of wooden swords rang out in the training yard, sharp and rhythmic like the beating of war drums. Rows of children, no older than twelve, stood in formation beneath the watchful eyes of the elders. Dust rose with every strike, sunlight glinting on beads of sweat that dripped from determined brows.
Li Shen tightened his grip on the practice blade and faced Zhao Feng. His friend smirked, eyes flashing with competitive fire.
"Don't hold back this time," Zhao Feng challenged.
Shen smiled faintly. "I never do."
The spar began. Zhao Feng charged with explosive power, his strikes heavy and fast, while Shen shifted lightly on his feet, meeting blow after blow with precise counters. Wooden blades cracked against one another, sparks of youthful rivalry flying with each clash. Where Zhao was strength, Shen was strategy; where Zhao pressed forward recklessly, Shen used his calm footwork to create openings.
After several exchanges, Shen sidestepped, catching Zhao's arm and sending him sprawling into the dust. The other disciples laughed, clapping and cheering, while Zhao Feng coughed and sat up, his grin wide.
"Again!" Zhao barked, already scrambling to his feet.
Before they could resume, Elder Wu raised a hand. "Enough. Both of you show promise. One has the fire of a warrior, the other the calm mind of a leader. Balance each other well."
Shen bowed respectfully. Zhao puffed out his chest with pride. But as they walked back together, Zhao leaned closer.
"Next time, I'll win," he muttered with a playful scowl.
Shen chuckled. "We'll see."
---
The dining hall was lively that evening, filled with the chatter of disciples. Bowls of steaming rice and vegetables lined the long tables. Shen, Zhao, and Mei Lin sat together as they often did, the three forming a natural trio.
Mei Lin giggled as she tried to teach Zhao Feng the proper way to use chopsticks. Zhao, hopelessly clumsy, dropped his food onto the table, earning a round of laughter.
"I'll stick to my fists," Zhao declared. "They're easier to handle than these cursed sticks."
Shen shook his head, hiding a smile. "You'll never improve if you give up so easily."
"And you'll never grow taller if you keep eating like a rabbit," Zhao shot back, earning another laugh from Mei Lin.
Amid the laughter, the three spoke of their pasts. Zhao bragged about his clan's martial traditions, Mei Lin shared stories of her sheltered upbringing, and Shen quietly mentioned his mother, a widow who struggled in their village. His voice softened when he spoke of her, and both Zhao and Mei Lin noticed the way his eyes hardened with determination.
"I'll become strong," Shen said, fists clenching unconsciously. "Strong enough so she never suffers again."
There was a silence, then Mei Lin placed a hand over his. "You will. I believe in you."
Shen blinked, warmth blooming in his chest at her words. Zhao Feng smiled too, though for the briefest instant, his gaze flickered with something unreadable.
---
Later that week, after a particularly grueling day of training, Shen sat on the edge of the courtyard, drenched in sweat. Mei Lin appeared beside him, holding out a folded handkerchief.
"You'll catch cold if you don't dry off," she said softly.
He hesitated, then took it, dabbing his forehead awkwardly. "Thank you."
Zhao Feng strolled up, smirking. "Our healer is already acting like his wife. Should we start preparing the wedding robes?"
Mei Lin's cheeks flushed pink. Shen nearly choked, hastily handing back the handkerchief. "Don't joke about that!"
"Why not?" Zhao teased, laughing heartily. "It suits you two."
Despite his laughter, a shadow lingered in Zhao's eyes as he walked away.
---
That night, beneath the vast sky painted with countless stars, the three friends sat together on the grassy hill behind the dormitories. The sect was quiet, save for the distant hum of cicadas.
"Someday," Zhao said, staring at the heavens, "I'll become the strongest warrior. Strong enough to crush mountains with my fists."
Mei Lin smiled gently. "And I… I wish to heal. To use my strength so no one around me has to suffer."
They both turned to Shen. He hesitated, looking up at the stars as though searching for his answer among them.
"I don't care what path I take," Shen said finally. "Mage, warrior, summoner, or even nothing. I only want the strength to protect the people I love."
Mei Lin's breath caught softly, her eyes lingering on him. Zhao laughed, shaking his head.
"You're too soft, Shen. But that's why we'll always be together. I'll be the shield, Mei Lin the healer, and you… the heart."
He stood suddenly, pricking his finger with a small blade he carried. "Let's make it official. A blood oath of brotherhood."
Shen and Mei Lin exchanged glances, then nodded. They each pricked their fingers, pressing them together as Zhao spoke solemnly:
"No matter what spirit root we awaken, no matter how far we rise, we'll never betray each other. From this day, we are siblings in spirit and blood."
Their mingled drops of blood gleamed briefly under the moonlight before vanishing into the grass.
Mei Lin added softly, "We'll always believe in one another."
The three laughed then, leaning back to watch the stars, their young hearts full of dreams.
Deep within Shen's Sea of Ocean, something stirred. A low, ancient murmur rippled through the sealed depths, like the faint growl of a sleeping dragon. It felt the boy's attachments, his promises, his fragile bonds.
And it knew how easily such bonds could be broken.