Riven turned to go — but Mira's voice stopped him.
"You have something on your face."
He blinked. "I do?"
Before he could react, she reached out and brushed a thumb just below his cheekbone — wiping away a smudge of dirt.
Riven froze.
Not because it hurt. Not because it was embarrassing.
But because Mira… never did that sort of thing.
She didn't offer towels. She didn't fuss. She didn't touch people.
So why now?
Before he could ask, she stepped back like nothing had happened.
Then a voice called from outside the storage room.
"Core disciple Riven?"
He turned to see a younger disciple waiting at the door — robes plain, posture stiff.
"I was sent to escort you. Elder Kael is expecting you."
Duty calls.
Riven nodded, glancing once more at Mira, who had already turned to go.
Then he followed the boy outside, back onto the winding trail that passed by his residence.
Only this time, they walked further up.
Deeper into the sect's cliffs.
>>>
A few minutes later, they arrived at a familiar place.
His master's residence.
The house wasn't large. Or lavish.
In fact, it was surprisingly simple — a single-tier structure of polished stone and aged darkwood, tucked between two bent pines like it had been grown there rather than built.
There were no banners. No carved pillars. Not even a plaque with Kael's name.
But it still felt like an elder's home.
There was something in the stillness of the air, the clean sweep of the stone path, the way the wood didn't creak despite its age.
The boy who'd guided him gave a short nod, then stepped aside.
Riven stepped up to the door — already slightly ajar — and pushed it open.
Inside, the air was cool.
Quiet.
And in the middle of that silence sat Kael.
He was positioned on a low cushion by the open window, next to the picture of a spider. Thin strands of mist drifted in from the cliffs outside.
The light caught half his face — the wrong half.
A pale scar ran from his temple down past his jaw, a jagged line that looked less like an old wound and more like something that should've killed him but didn't.
He looked up as Riven entered.
His eyes were calm. Too calm. Flat, almost. Like he'd seen a hundred people die in front of him and simply decided it wasn't worth reacting to anymore.
"Riven," Kael said.
His gaze scanned Riven before eventually wandering to his hand.
In particular, the spider tattoo etched across the back of it — black ink, thin-lined, small — but impossible to miss once you were looking.
Kael stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
Then looked back up.
"Thanks for coming."
Still breathing. That's a good start.
Riven gave a small nod, keeping his expression neutral. The room felt heavy.
Kael looked down for a second. There was a small slip of paper in his hand, marked with two lines of tight, slanted ink.
"You've chosen your martial skills?"
"Yes."
"Falconburst Kick and Frostbind Chains?"
Riven hesitated a fraction.
Frostbind Chains was the second skill he'd taken. He just hadn't had the chance to practice it yet.
"Yes," he said slowly.
How did he know that?
Kael's gaze didn't waver. It never wavered. In fact, Riven hadn't even seem him blink till now.
"Why only two? With the status we gave you, you could've chosen as many as you wanted."
Riven rubbed the back of his neck. "The elder at the Pavilion told me not to spread myself too thin. Said I'd just waste time if I tried to learn too many."
Kael's mouth curved faintly — not quite a smile. "That's true. Normally."
He folded the paper once, then set it on the table beside him.
"But for you, I have something else in mind."
He turned his head slightly toward the door.
"Come in."
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
A shadow stepped through.
Thick fur covered the man's forearms and shoulders, and short, clawed digits peeked out from fingerless gloves. His gait was smooth — quiet in a way that shouldn't have matched his bulk.
His eyes were bright — golden — and his ears, slightly pointed, twitched faintly as he stepped fully inside. He looked like the kind of man, who'd wrestle lions and win.
"This," Kael said, "is my first disciple. His name is Vaern. Half snow-leopard beastkin. Born in the far north."
Vaern said nothing, simply offered a slow nod.
"A natural-born martial artist," Kael continued. "He's spent more time fighting than most sect disciples spend breathing."
He let that hang for a moment.
"Which is exactly why I've asked him to train you."
"Train me?" Riven asked, already bracing himself.
In this sect, 'training' rarely meant stretches and encouragement.
Kael nodded. "You've chosen good techniques. But…"
He glanced toward Riven's stance — the way he shifted his weight, the faint tension in his shoulders.
"It's obvious no one ever taught you how to fight."
Riven stiffened slightly. Kael went on, calm as ever.
"That's not an insult. Just a fact. Technique without foundation is like a sword without a hilt — you might still hurt someone, but you'll bleed just as much doing it."
He tapped the folded paper once.
"Vaern developed a series of martial skills for beginners like you. Basic Kick. Basic Punch. Basic Guard. You might've seen them in the hall. They're rated mid-grade, even though their qi application barely matches a low-grade skill."
He gave Riven a knowing look.
"Because what they do is teach you how to actually hit. How to fight. Proper mechanics, with just a smudge of qi to reinforce the motion."
Riven nodded slowly. He remembered seeing them.
"They aren't flashy," Kael said. "But if you want to compete in the Newcomers' Trial, these are your best bet."
He met Riven's eyes.
"If you can learn these, even if you only barely grasp the other techniques you picked, you might still win."
Kael leaned back slightly.
"But if you don't learn them — if you go into that Trial relying only on high-grade moves and no real form — then the first opponent with any real combat experience will wipe the floor with you. Doesn't matter how powerful your scroll says you are."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Vaern finally spoke — his voice deep, rough, but not unkind.
"Good to meet you, junior brother."
Vaern grinned — not wide, but enough to show the edges of sharp, beastkin teeth. There was a glint in his golden eyes that was hard to place. Not unfriendly, but not soft either.
"You represent our master now," he said. "So that means two things."
He raised one clawed finger.
"First, I won't let you embarrass him."
Then a second.
"Second, I won't let you embarrass yourself."
Riven shifted slightly. He couldn't tell if that was a threat or a promise.
"Be at the Combat Dungeon tomorrow morning," Vaern said, already turning to leave. "I'll bring the scrolls."
And just like that, he was gone — tail of his robe flicking behind him, footsteps somehow silent despite his size.
Riven stood there for a second longer, unsure what to say.
"…What the...," he muttered, mostly to himself.
Kael didn't speak again. Just watched him with that same unreadable calm. Eyes open fully.
Why does he never blink?
Riven bowed once — trying to leave fast — and turned to go.
His mind wandered back to their conversation.
Basic Kick. Basic Punch.
Not exactly the cool skills he'd had in mind when he thought about martial arts.
But what Kael had said sounded right.
He really didn't know much about fighting.
Even his victory against the Icefang Bear had been more luck than skill.
Maybe he isn't as bad a master as I thought.
He thought back to what his beastly senior brother had mentioned.
Combat Dungeon.
He had no idea what it was.
But if it was part of this sect… it couldn't be good.