The morning began warm and golden over Zahara.

  Sunlight filtered through carved stone latticework and spilled across the polished floor of the inn room Lars and Aery had rented. The scent of spices and roasted meat still lingered faintly from the night before.

  They had eaten well.

  Too well, perhaps.

  Lars had insisted.

  Thirty bronze coins for a proper room, proper beds, and a feast that made his stomach ache in satisfaction — it was expensive, yes. But for the first time since exile, he didn’t feel like he was surviving.

  He felt like he was living.

  He lay on his back for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling.

  Today.

  Proper training.

  His chest tightened briefly.

  He wished Osbin were alive to see it.

  To see that he hadn’t wasted the chance he’d been given.

  To see that the boy he’d chosen to train was moving forward.

  Lars exhaled slowly.

  He had taken down the mother sand wyrm.

  Alone.

  A faint flicker of pride sparked in him.

  He slapped his own cheek lightly.

  “Stay grounded,” he muttered.

  Aery stirred in the other bed.

  Her green eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the morning light. She looked far more rested than the timid girl who had first stumbled into him at the gates.

  “You’re up early,” she said softly.

  He grinned.

  “Big day.”

  She sat up, smoothing her hair back.

  “I want to come,” she added quickly.

  He tilted his head slightly.

  “To the temple.”

  There was hesitation in her tone, but not fear.

  Curiosity.

  And something else.

  “I want to see,” she admitted. “What you become.”

  Lars smiled faintly.

  “Then let’s not be late.”

  They washed, dressed, and stepped out into the waking streets of Zahara.

  Morning in the desert kingdom was vibrant in a way Solaris never had been. Vendors were already arranging bright fabrics and golden jewelry under shaded awnings. Incense drifted lazily through the air. Camel caravans moved steadily along the outer lanes. The sandstone buildings glowed warm beneath the rising sun.

  Different.

  But alive.

  Lars found himself staring at it all.

  Despite the harsher climate, despite the dryness in the air, he didn’t feel entirely out of place.

  “Lost in your head?” Aery asked, her tone teasing now.

  He blinked and looked at her.

  “There’s so much I haven’t explored yet,” he admitted. “If this training goes well… I want to see everything.”

  She smiled.

  “You will.”

  They walked toward the Adventurers Association.

  And that was when Lars saw her.

  A familiar hunched figure seated beside a display of trinkets and rings.

  Wrinkled hands.

  Sharp eyes.

  Crooked smile.

  His steps slowed.

  “That old hag…”

  Aery followed his gaze.

  “Do you know her?”

  Lars’ expression sharpened.

  “Oh, I know her.”

  He changed direction without another word.

  The old woman looked up as his shadow fell across her stall.

  Her eyes gleamed in recognition.

  “Well now,” she croaked, lips curling. “Back for another relic, boy?”

  Lars pointed at her without hesitation.

  “You scammed me.”

  She raised a brow.

  “Did I?”

  “You sold me that ring for double its worth in Solaris.”

  She shrugged lightly.

  “I sold you a lesson.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “You told me it was a good deal.”

  She leaned back slightly.

  “And you believed me.”

  The words were calm.

  Lars paused.

  Her eyes held his steadily.

  “Don’t take every word at face value,” she said quietly. “Not from merchants. Not from nobles. Not from family.”

  That last word hit differently.

  He remembered the drink.

  His younger brother’s smile.

  Trusting hands.

  Darkness.

  His gaze lowered slightly.

  He hadn’t just been swindled by a merchant.

  He had been na?ve long before that.

  “You’re right,” he said after a moment.

  The old woman’s expression shifted subtly.

  She hadn’t expected that.

  Most young men argued.

  He accepted.

  Her fingers tapped lightly against her display.

  “You’ve changed,” she muttered.

  Lars didn’t respond.

  Instead, his eyes drifted to her table.

  “Where’s my ring?” he asked casually.

  She tilted her head.

  “Ah. That.”

  He hadn’t realized it until now.

  He hadn’t had the summoner ring since exile.

  It had been confiscated along with his gauntlets.

  Gone.

  The old woman reached into a small wooden box beneath her stall.

  She pulled out another ring.

  Similar.

  But not identical.

  This one was darker — the metal etched with faint, nearly invisible runes along the inner band.

  She held it between two fingers.

  “Take this one.”

  Lars narrowed his eyes.

  “I don’t have coin for another lesson.”

  She scoffed.

  “Free.”

  He hesitated.

  Her eyes sharpened.

  “You paid more than enough last time.”

  Aery watched silently, trying to read the situation.

  “This makes up the difference,” the old woman continued. “And replaces what you lost.”

  Lars studied the ring carefully.

  He didn’t move to take it yet.

  “Why?” he asked.

  The old woman leaned closer.

  “Because you didn’t argue.”

  Her voice lowered.

  “Because you learned.”

  Silence hung between them.

  Lars reached out slowly.

  His fingers brushed the ring.

  For a brief moment—

  The metal felt cold.

  Colder than it should have been under the desert sun.

  He didn’t pull his hand back.

  But his eyes flickered slightly.

  The old woman watched him closely.

  “Go on,” she urged softly.

  Aery shifted beside him, sensing something subtle but unfamiliar in the air.

  Lars closed his fingers around the ring.

  And just as the metal fully settled into his palm—

  A faint, almost imperceptible pulse of energy moved across his skin.

  Not Ki.

  Not exactly mana either.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Something else.

  The old woman’s smile didn’t fade.

  But her eyes sharpened ever so slightly.

  “Careful how you wear that one,” she said quietly.

  And there was no humor in her voice this time.

  Lars slipped the ring into his satchel for the moment rather than placing it on his finger.

  He didn’t know why.

  Something about the faint chill still lingered in his palm.

  “Thank you,” he said to the old woman.

  She only waved him off, already turning to rearrange her display as if the conversation had meant nothing.

  Lars and Aery stepped away from the stall and returned to the main path toward the Adventurers Association.

  Aery glanced sideways at him.

  “What happened between you two?”

  He kept his eyes forward.

  “She sold me a ring in Solaris,” he said briefly. “For more than it was worth.”

  Aery blinked.

  “She… cheated you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And the ring?” she asked, curious now.

  Lars hesitated.

  He didn’t want to explain.

  Didn’t want to speak about exile.

  About confiscated belongings.

  About chains of mana and humiliation.

  “I must’ve lost it,” he said casually. “When I was bathing on my way to Zahara.”

  Aery froze.

  “B-bathing?”

  Her mind betrayed her instantly.

  Clear water.

  Desert sunlight.

  White hair damp and slicked back—

  Her face flushed red almost immediately.

  “Oh.”

  She looked straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

  “I see.”

  She didn’t ask another question.

  Lars noticed her sudden silence and glanced at her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said too quickly.

  He shrugged lightly and didn’t push further.

  They reached the wide doors of the Adventurers Association once more.

  This time, the hall was steady and alive — no dragon rumors, no tension. Adventurers spoke openly. Armor clinked. Laughter echoed near the quest board.

  A few familiar faces glanced in Lars’ direction.

  Recognition now.

  Not mockery.

  He’d grown used to eyes following him.

  He walked toward the counter.

  Kael’s feline ears perked as soon as he saw them.

  “You’re early,” Kael said with a grin.

  “Didn’t want to keep anyone waiting,” Lars replied.

  Kael studied him for a moment, then nodded approvingly.

  “Good.”

  He leaned slightly forward.

  “Head Master Zahira is expecting great things from you.”

  Lars felt that weight again.

  Expectation.

  Kael lowered his voice just a little.

  “And be careful around Master Raizen.”

  Lars blinked.

  “Raizen…”

  The name felt sharp.

  Grounded.

  “So this is my new master,” he thought.

  Kael straightened.

  “The escort will guide you. The temple isn’t far — but entry isn’t open to the public.”

  Aery stood slightly behind Lars, her curiosity visible despite her nerves.

  Kael stepped from behind the counter.

  “Follow me.”

  They exited the association and turned down a quieter street — away from the central trade lanes.

  The buildings slowly shifted in style. Fewer banners. Less decoration. More stone.

  More silence.

  The temple came into view as they turned a final corner.

  It wasn’t grand.

  It wasn’t covered in gold or carvings.

  It was carved directly into sandstone cliffs — tall, rectangular gates made of reinforced dark wood bound by iron. High walls extended outward from either side, enclosing the grounds within.

  No insignia.

  No guards standing outside.

  Kael approached the gates and knocked three times.

  Not loudly.

  Measured.

  A pause.

  Then the gates opened inward with a slow, grinding weight.

  Kael stepped aside.

  “You may enter.”

  Lars and Aery exchanged a brief look before stepping through.

  The gates shut behind them with a heavy finality.

  Inside—

  The world changed.

  The air felt cooler.

  Still.

  The courtyard was wide and open, paved with smooth sandstone tiles worn by years of footsteps. Sparse desert trees stood at equal intervals along the perimeter. In the center sat a shallow circular training ring — no ropes, no barriers, just open ground marked by faint white lines.

  Beyond the courtyard rose the main temple structure — layered stone levels ascending into the cliff face itself. Red banners hung from upper balconies, faded but strong.

  No students.

  No noise.

  Just wind moving lightly through the courtyard.

  Aery’s eyes widened slightly.

  “It’s… quiet.”

  Lars took a step forward—

  And his senses snapped.

  The air shifted.

  A disturbance.

  Behind him.

  Fast.

  Without thinking, he turned, Ki surging instinctively into his arms.

  A strike came from above and behind.

  He parried.

  Forearm meeting forearm.

  The impact cracked sharply across the courtyard.

  Sand scattered under his boots.

  The attacker landed lightly in front of him.

  A demi-human.

  Lean.

  Muscular.

  Half-man.

  Half-monkey.

  A long tail swayed behind him casually, almost lazily. His hair was tied back loosely, dark and wild. His attire was layered red and orange cloth bound tight around his torso and waist, leaving his arms bare. His fists were wrapped in thick, weathered bindings.

  His eyes were sharp.

  Amused.

  “So,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder slightly as if testing Lars’ resistance.

  “Zahira was right.”

  His tail flicked once behind him.

  “You really are a special case.”

  Before Lars could respond, the demi-human vanished from his position.

  Not teleportation.

  Speed.

  He reappeared to Lars’ left, leg already sweeping low toward his ankle.

  Lars barely shifted in time, lifting his foot just enough to avoid being knocked off balance.

  A fist came next.

  Then another.

  Then a rapid flurry of controlled strikes aimed at joints, ribs, throat.

  Not overwhelming force.

  Precision.

  Lars blocked two.

  Deflected one.

  The fourth strike slipped past and struck his shoulder sharply.

  Pain flared.

  “Too slow,” the demi-human said flatly.

  Lars steadied himself.

  “I wasn’t ready.”

  The tail swayed again.

  “Wrong.”

  A blur—

  The demi-human appeared directly in front of him and drove a palm strike into Lars’ chest.

  Lars slid backward across the sandstone tiles, boots grinding against stone before stopping.

  “You’re always ready,” the demi-human said calmly, stepping forward.

  “Or you’re already dead.”

  Lars inhaled sharply and raised his guard again.

  The demi-human’s eyes gleamed faintly.

  “Good.”

  He cracked his knuckles once.

  “Let’s see how long you last.”

  Aery stood near the edge of the courtyard, fingers clasped tightly in front of her.

  She had seen Lars fight before.

  She had seen him battle the sand wyrm.

  But this—

  This was different.

  The shift in him was immediate.

  Gone was the teasing boy from the streets.

  Gone was the relaxed smile.

  His posture lowered.

  His breathing slowed.

  His eyes sharpened into something predatory.

  Focused.

  Cold.

  As if someone had flipped a switch inside him.

  Raizen saw it too.

  The faint curl at the corner of the demi-human monk’s mouth deepened.

  There it is, he thought.

  No greeting.

  No introduction.

  Just combat.

  Their first meeting had already become a test.

  Raizen moved first again — a blur of red and orange cloth slicing through the courtyard air.

  A straight strike toward Lars’ jaw.

  Lars parried.

  Another toward his ribs.

  Blocked.

  A knee aimed at his abdomen—

  Lars absorbed it with his forearm and slid backward, sand scattering beneath his boots.

  “So this is Master Raizen…” Lars thought.

  Raizen didn’t give him time to process.

  A low sweep.

  A feint high.

  A palm strike aimed at the sternum.

  Lars defended with disciplined precision — but something was off.

  Raizen noticed it almost immediately.

  The boy’s arms were active.

  His fists were powerful.

  But his legs—

  Idle.

  Only adjusting stance.

  Only repositioning.

  Never striking.

  Raizen pivoted and delivered a spinning heel kick toward Lars’ temple.

  Lars barely ducked beneath it.

  “You fight like your lower body belongs to someone else,” Raizen muttered mid-combat.

  Lars frowned but didn’t respond.

  Raizen pressed harder.

  A flurry of rapid hand strikes — shoulder, throat, collarbone.

  Lars blocked two.

  Deflected one.

  The fourth slipped past and struck his side sharply.

  His breath hitched.

  “Your arms are loud,” Raizen continued calmly, striking again. “But your legs are silent.”

  Lars stepped back, Ki surging into his forearms again.

  “You’re a monk,” Raizen snapped suddenly.

  Another strike.

  Blocked.

  “Monks do not borrow only half their body.”

  The words hit almost as sharply as the blows.

  Lars had never used his legs for direct combat.

  Only to move.

  Never to attack.

  Raizen lunged again.

  This time, instead of meeting fist with fist, Lars hesitated—

  Then he swung his leg.

  Awkward.

  Unpracticed.

  But infused with Ki.

  Raizen’s eyes widened slightly.

  The kick missed.

  But the air displaced violently.

  The force alone rippled outward across the courtyard.

  The sandstone beneath Raizen’s foot cracked faintly from the shockwave.

  Raizen withdrew two steps instantly.

  Interesting.

  The boy didn’t know how to use it.

  But the power—

  It was there.

  Raw.

  Untamed.

  “Again,” Raizen commanded.

  Lars shifted, attempting another kick.

  His balance faltered slightly.

  Raizen slipped inside his guard and tapped his supporting ankle lightly.

  Lars stumbled forward.

  “Your power is ahead of your control,” Raizen said flatly.

  He circled now, tail swaying lazily.

  “You swing as if you’re trying to break mountains.”

  He flicked a finger at Lars’ chest — not hard, but precise.

  “And you forget you’re standing on sand.”

  Lars grit his teeth and tried again.

  This time combining fist and leg.

  A high strike followed by a sweeping kick.

  Raizen ducked the fist and jumped over the sweep, landing behind him.

  “You are strong,” Raizen admitted calmly.

  A palm struck Lars between the shoulder blades, sending him forward.

  “But strength without structure is noise.”

  Lars caught himself, turned, and charged again.

  Aery’s eyes strained to follow them now.

  Their movements blurred.

  Red and white streaks crossing the courtyard in sharp bursts.

  She couldn’t track their feet.

  Only flashes of contact.

  Her heart pounded.

  This was beyond what she had witnessed in the desert.

  Raizen began increasing his tempo.

  Testing reaction time.

  Testing instinct.

  Testing discipline.

  Lars adapted quickly.

  Blocking faster.

  Reading angles better.

  But the flaw remained.

  Arms dominant.

  Legs secondary.

  Raizen saw glimpses.

  Moments.

  Tiny flashes where Lars’ body aligned correctly.

  Where his weight shifted perfectly.

  Where his kick nearly landed with devastating precision.

  Worthy prospect, Raizen thought.

  He ended it abruptly.

  One final exchange.

  Lars threw a forward punch.

  Raizen sidestepped.

  His tail flicked lightly against Lars’ ankle — just enough to disrupt his balance.

  Then Raizen’s palm pressed against Lars’ chest.

  Not a strike.

  A push.

  Lars slid back several meters before catching himself.

  Silence fell over the courtyard.

  Lars stood breathing heavily.

  Chest rising and falling.

  Sweat gathering at his brow.

  But he remained upright.

  Unbowed.

  Aery exhaled slowly, only now realizing she had been holding her breath.

  Raizen stepped forward calmly.

  “You are tired,” he observed.

  Lars said nothing.

  “You are unrefined.”

  Silence.

  “You are reckless.”

  Lars steadied his breathing.

  Raizen’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “But you are not weak.”

  A faint tension hung in the air.

  Raizen walked closer until he stood only a step away from Lars.

  “You hide something,” Raizen said quietly.

  Not accusatory.

  Observational.

  Lars’ heartbeat skipped.

  Raizen’s gaze sharpened.

  “There is instability in your Ki.”

  His tail stopped swaying.

  “You circulate improperly.”

  Lars clenched his fists unconsciously.

  Raizen’s eyes flicked down to them.

  “Stop clenching.”

  Lars forced his fingers open.

  “You fight as if you expect to die,” Raizen continued bluntly.

  The words struck harder than any blow.

  Aery stiffened at the edge of the courtyard.

  Raizen stepped back slowly.

  “You are not here to show me your strength.”

  His tone hardened.

  “You are here because Zahira believes you are salvageable.”

  Salvageable.

  The word cut deep.

  Raizen turned and began walking toward the center ring.

  “If you wish to walk this path,” he said without looking back—

  “Strip your ego at the gate.”

  He stopped.

  Then added flatly:

  “Or leave.”

  The wind stirred faintly through the courtyard.

  And Raizen’s presence shifted.

  As if the true weight of the temple had just descended onto Lars’ shoulders.

  “Come,” Raizen said calmly.

  “And try again.”

  Lars inhaled slowly.

  Then closed his eyes.

  The courtyard grew quieter in his mind, even if the wind still moved faintly between the sandstone walls.

  He let his shoulders loosen.

  Let his fists unclench.

  He remembered Osbin.

  The brutal mornings.

  The sudden strikes.

  The voice booming in his ear—

  Don’t think. React.

  Aery stiffened from the edge of the courtyard.

  The air shifted.

  The atmosphere tightened.

  She gripped her grimoire instinctively, heart pounding as she watched Lars stand there with his eyes closed in front of a master who had just overwhelmed him.

  Raizen’s tail flicked once.

  A brow lifted slightly.

  “You dare close your eyes in battle?”

  His tone wasn’t angry.

  It was sharp.

  Testing.

  And then he moved.

  A straight strike toward Lars’ throat.

  Lars felt it.

  Not the strike.

  The air.

  The displacement.

  The faint pressure ripple before contact.

  His eyes snapped open.

  He shifted.

  The strike missed by inches.

  But instead of retreating—

  Lars stepped forward.

  His shoulder rotated, his fist driving toward Raizen’s ribs.

  Raizen’s arm intercepted it.

  The impact cracked.

  Raizen’s eyes sharpened.

  Different.

  Another strike came — this time toward Lars’ jaw.

  Lars leaned just enough to let it skim past.

  His leg followed through.

  Not stiff.

  Not forced.

  Loose.

  Fluid.

  The kick cut horizontally toward Raizen’s side.

  Raizen blocked.

  But he felt it.

  The weight behind it.

  The intent.

  Not desperate.

  Not frantic.

  Focused.

  He pressed harder.

  A flurry of rapid blows.

  Palm.

  Elbow.

  Low sweep.

  Lars moved through them.

  Not perfectly.

  But cleanly.

  He wasn’t simply defending anymore.

  He was redirecting.

  Letting strikes pass his frame and answering with his own.

  His legs moved more naturally now.

  Not as anchors.

  As weapons.

  As extensions of balance.

  Raizen was forced to guard twice in succession.

  Then three times.

  His tail whipped sharply to regain space as a spinning kick nearly grazed his shoulder.

  The courtyard sand shifted under their feet.

  Aery’s eyes widened.

  She couldn’t track them anymore.

  Only flashes.

  Only the rhythm of impact.

  Raizen grinned slightly.

  “He adapts fast,” he thought.

  The boy’s Ki wasn’t refined.

  But it was responsive.

  Learning mid-combat.

  Dangerous.

  Raizen stepped in sharply and clashed forearm to forearm with Lars.

  Their eyes met for a brief moment.

  Lars’ expression was calm.

  Not smiling.

  Not strained.

  Clear.

  Raizen disengaged abruptly.

  Two steps back.

  Then three.

  The battle ended as swiftly as it had intensified.

  Silence settled again.

  Lars stood breathing steadily now — not ragged, not collapsing.

  Controlled.

  Raizen studied him.

  “You are very different from what Zahira informed me,” he said at last.

  There was a faint smile on his lips.

  Lars straightened.

  Raizen crossed his arms.

  “Why do you wish to become a monk?”

  The question landed heavier than the strikes had.

  Aery leaned forward slightly, listening.

  Lars didn’t hesitate long.

  “I don’t want to rely on a weapon if I don’t have one.”

  Raizen nodded faintly.

  Practical.

  Direct.

  “Why do you seek strength?”

  Lars inhaled once.

  “To protect those I care about.”

  Aery’s ears turned red instantly.

  She lowered her gaze quickly, pretending to study the courtyard floor.

  Raizen’s eyes didn’t miss it.

  He shifted slightly.

  “What is your end goal?”

  That question struck deeper.

  Lars paused.

  He hadn’t thought that far.

  Not clearly.

  Not fully.

  His past life had ended before he could shape it.

  His second life had begun with chaos.

  But there was one thing he knew.

  “I want to create my own guild,” he said firmly.

  “I want to protect my future guild.”

  Raizen’s smirk returned.

  “Your family?”

  The word lingered.

  Lars’ expression tightened briefly.

  He didn’t look away.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “I don’t have one here,” he answered quietly.

  Then added—

  “This will be my family.”

  Aery’s chest tightened slightly at those words.

  Raizen watched carefully.

  Not just the words.

  The posture.

  The breathing.

  The eyes.

  No deceit.

  No hunger for dominance.

  No craving for destruction.

  Just conviction.

  Raizen nodded once.

  “You speak without trembling.”

  He stepped closer.

  “If I train you, your strength will not belong only to you.”

  His voice lowered slightly.

  “It will affect others.”

  Lars met his gaze without wavering.

  “I understand.”

  Raizen studied him a moment longer.

  Then turned.

  “Good.”

  He walked toward the center of the training ring.

  “The real training begins now.”

  He stopped.

  Without looking back.

  “Everything you become… will depend on what you learn here.”

  The wind moved faintly across the courtyard.

  Aery felt something shift.

  Not explosive.

  Not dramatic.

  Foundational.

  Lars felt it too.

  Not just ambition.

  Not just pride.

  Direction.

  Raizen glanced over his shoulder slightly.

  “Tomorrow at dawn.”

  His voice carried no warmth.

  “No spectators.”

  His eyes flicked briefly toward Aery.

  “This path is not gentle.”

  Lars nodded.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  But there was light in his eyes.

  Resolve.

  Aery smiled softly at the sight of it.

  And in the stillness of the temple courtyard—

  A new chapter of discipline had quietly begun.