Chapter 13: Accidents in the Shadows
Jin returned to the sect with bruises under his robes and a storm behind his calm eyes. Squad Nine had survived the wolves, barely. Mira limped for days, and Kio's leg would take weeks to mend. Their mission scroll, returned to the mission hall, was stamped completed with little more than a nod.
No one commended them. No elders came to speak. Not even congratulations.
Instead, three days later, Jin was summoned to the combat yard.
"You've been volunteered for advanced sparring rotations," said the elder at the gate, not even looking at him.
Jin blinked. "I haven't—"
"Don't argue. You're on the list."
It wasn't hard to guess whose hand had scribbled his name in. Elder Varek, always smiling with tight lips and narrow eyes, had remained silent since the aptitude tests. His prized student had gained dual affinities—ice and wind—but Jin had stolen the crowd's attention with his supreme fire talent. Not rare, but powerful. And worse, it had come from nowhere.
Jin stood in the yard as three disciples approached. All bore higher ranks, at the early stages of Foundation Realm. They smirked when they saw him.
"You're the one from Squad Nine?" one said, cracking his knuckles.
Jin nodded warily.
"Don't worry," another said, "we'll go easy."
They didn't.
The first spell was a wind blade, sharper than it should have been. Jin barely twisted aside, fire coiling around his arm to deflect it. The second disciple summoned earth spikes—four of them—instead of the regulated one allowed in sparring drills. Jin leapt back, burning one mid-air, but caught a shard along his ribs.
"Watch it!" he barked.
"Sorry!" one of them called with a sneer. "Slipped."
The third sent a water whip at his legs, aiming to trip rather than strike. Jin blocked it again—but with effort. They weren't trying to test him. They were trying to wear him down.
He didn't win the sparring match. But he didn't lose either.
His fire danced wider and hotter than expected, sending the three back on their heels in the final minute. The elder overseeing the bout raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Interesting control," the elder muttered. "Untrained, but... resilient."
The bruises came later. Deep, aching things that sank into his back and thigh. Kio saw him in the mess hall and grimaced.
"You need to slow down."
"I'm not doing this," Jin muttered, sitting stiffly with his tray. "It's being done to me."
Mira sat beside them, her face pale. "Another mission came. Gathering thunder herbs from the cliffs. Dangerous terrain. Guess who they picked?"
"Squad Nine?" Kio guessed.
"Just Jin."
Jin's knuckles whitened on the tray. "They're isolating me now."
That night, someone snuck into his room and poured water on the lone fire crystal that warmed the chamber—dousing the heat source entirely. It was subtle. Petty. But deliberate.
The room, already low in essence, became a cold box of stagnation.
He didn't report it. No one would believe him. Not against the word of an elder.
Instead, he sat cross-legged in the dark, breath slow, flames flickering around his fingertips. They were trying to grind him down.
But he wouldn't break.
Let them send their fake friends and harsh missions.
Let them sharpen the knives.
Because even hunted prey can become a predator.
And when his fire rose high enough... they'd all burn.