In that pitch-black chamber — as dark and inscrutable as the mask of its enigmatic owner — a small pool shimmered faintly, carved into the ancient stone as if it had existed since the dawn of the kingdom itself. Its surface, smooth and black as obsidian, reflected the dimmest of light, glowing with a subtle, almost sentient luminescence whenever the disciples of the Heavenly Academy approached. These youths, the finest in the kingdom, carried in their veins not only the blood of ancestors but also sharp intuition and a natural wisdom that had marked them as the kingdom's last beacon of hope, especially after the devastating assault that had claimed its strongest elders — and, tragically, Jin Hai.
The masked figure lingered in the shadows, motionless, yet every sense was acutely attuned. His eyes — or at least the intentions behind them — scanned the reflections in the pool, analyzing the subtle shifts in posture, the unspoken reactions of each approaching disciple. He sought one in particular, though he did not yet know which. Centuries of waiting had honed his patience to a razor's edge, yet even after all these years, his vigilance never waned.
That morning, a figure appeared in the pool's reflective surface — someone moving with a steady, deliberate gait toward the Academy's gate. There was something hauntingly familiar about him, a resonance that stirred memories long buried beneath years of strategy and silence. Who was this man? And why did his presence press upon the masked figure like an invisible weight, a prelude to the unexpected?
Without hesitation, the masked man departed the chamber, moving with silent precision toward the Academy. He was determined to find the one he sought — or so he believed — following the faint trail of energy, the subtle signature of someone whose destiny might tilt the balance of the kingdom.
The Academy's grand plaza stretched before him, a mosaic of sunlight and shadow, where the kingdom's elite soldiers stood in perfect formation beside their instructors. This was the first assembly of the year, a ceremonial convergence where the finest disciples presented themselves. By year's end, the Great Instructor Wu Xin, alongside Master Li, would select the Elite of the Elite — the few who would safeguard the kingdom's most sacred regions. Their challenge: to endure twelve grueling trials across treacherous fields, a test of strength, cunning, and spirit. Whoever surpassed even the Great Instructor's legendary record would claim unparalleled authority.
The disciples, only a few dozen in number, stood in three immaculate rows, each young face a mixture of resolve and apprehension. Master Li walked slowly before them, eyes tracing every contour, every expression. The sunlight caught the edge of his robes, giving him the aura of a man both stern and benevolent. He paused before one figure, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"I never thought you would return to join us… old man," he said, voice light yet tinged with genuine surprise.
The old man's face brightened despite himself, a mixture of nostalgia and warmth flickering in his eyes. "I spent the finest days of my youth training here… reliving them would not be unwelcome—if my knees allow, of course," he replied, a gentle humor lacing his words.
Great Instructor Wu Xin approached, his presence commanding yet measured, and spoke with reverent respect. "In every hall, every trial, you have always been the Elite among the Elite. Even if your body betrays you, your spirit never will."
The old man's smile deepened into something more introspective, almost wistful. "My spirit… desires something else. Will you grant it?"
Wu Xin's gaze was unwavering. "I agree — even before hearing the request."
The old man chuckled, an enigmatic sound, almost teasing. "Then do not blame me… for the trouble that will follow."
Wu Xin's brow furrowed slightly, uncertainty flickering across his features — until the old man revealed a figure from behind him. A girl. Not just any girl.
Wu Xin's eyes hardened, the cold steel of command sharpening his features. "What… are you doing here, Furnace Girl?"
The girl tilted her head with innocent curiosity. "'Furnace Girl'? Didn't you give me another name before? Let me remember… Ah yes, you called me Sweetheart, then My Little Beloved because you didn't like it. Did you forget?"
A subtle blush crept across Wu Xin's face. He could not deny it — every word rang true.
From the side, Mei's jealousy flared, burning in her gaze. "How shameless! How dare you lie about the Great Instructor and tarnish his name before all of us?"
Huo Feng did not answer. She simply circled Mei, her eyes taking in every angle, every subtle expression, as though piecing together a puzzle only she could solve. Then, abruptly, she raised her voice, clear and unyielding:
"Aaah! I see! You're angry because you want him to call you that! Don't worry. He can call you Sweetheart — and I will remain his Little Beloved. How about that?"
The plaza erupted into murmurs and uneasy laughter, the absurdity of the girl's words clashing with the quiet authority of Wu Xin. The old man stepped forward, his tone firm yet gentle. "Do not speak unless you are given permission."
He cast a subtle glance at Wu Xin, a hint of embarrassment in his otherwise composed features. "Forgive me, Great Instructor. But I warned you before… Can you handle this?"
Suo, standing aside, scoffed. "Just say it clearly — can you handle this disaster?"
Master Li's voice, calm but steady, interjected. "It is fine. I can train her, so do not worry—"
Wu Xin cut him off sharply. "I can handle the disaster. Do not worry."
Huo Feng raised her hand, small and deliberate, like a child seeking permission to speak. The old man nodded, granting her leave. She walked forward, steps measured but confident, and placed a hand upon Wu Xin's shoulder with a light tap, encouraging him without a word.
"Do not worry. I can handle the disaster too. You know how strong I am… Did you forget the Ice Mountain?"
Her words carried both mischief and unshakable confidence. The wind caught the hem of her robe, lifting it slightly, as if the mountain itself acknowledged her strength. Around her, the students and instructors alike felt a peculiar stillness, a quiet that held both reverence and awe, as if the air had grown thick with the promise of impending change.