The morning sun had not yet climbed over the jagged ridge when the gates of Duskwind Hollow groaned open. Seven cloaked figures stepped into the pale snow, breath curling from their mouths in silver tendrils. The forest beyond the village loomed like a sleeping giant, silent and cold, dusted with frost.
At their head stood Li Rong, cloak drawn tightly around his lean frame, eyes calm and calculating. Officially, he was now a Spirit Scholar. His Soul Power was 8, the highest awakening value in the clan's history—a full point above the legendary 7 his grandfather had held at the same age.
His dark eyes swept the trail ahead. Every tree, every snow-covered stone was a potential threat.
Behind him, Li Zian, age fourteen, grumbled as he adjusted his pack. "Remind me again why we're doing this with so few people? Shouldn't a spirit ring hunt have, I don't know, at least one elder?"
"You want to carry one on your back?" Li Shen, fifteen, broad and sturdy with the Ironhide Wolf Spirit and Soul Power 7, smirked as he shoved a bundle of firewood into Zian's arms. "We're the future of the clan, aren't we? Best get used to bleeding for it."
"I'd rather not bleed at all," Zian muttered. "Especially not for Li Rong's little… ambition."
Li Rong, standing nearby, didn't turn. "You didn't have to come."
Zian hesitated. "Yeah, well… you asked. Thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. Not like Li Feng ever asked me to join anything."
At the mention of Li Feng—the clan's golden boy, first son of Elder Li Huo, and the current favorite to become next Young Master—Shen's smirk faded. "Feng's a showboat. All bark, no bite."
Rong finally turned to face them. "He's more dangerous than he looks. He plays the crowd because he knows how to keep them fed. People like noise. Makes them feel safe."
"And you?" Shen asked. "What do you give them?"
"Silence," Rong said flatly. "And results."
Zian gave a low whistle. "You're really aiming to challenge him, aren't you?"
"Not yet," Rong said. "But soon."
Further back, Qiu Yeren, a wiry boy with the Silver Sable Spirit (Soul Power 5), crouched near a tree, fingers brushing faint claw marks in the snow. "There were beasts here. Two nights ago, maybe three."
Rong moved to inspect. "What kind?"
"Too light for a bear. Too narrow for a boar. Might be a Snowfang Lynx or a Nightglide Panther."
"Either would work," Rong said. "We stay sharp. Keep moving."
They traveled in near silence. The Northpine Ridge was infamous not just for its harsh weather, but for the territorial spirit beasts that prowled its deeper paths. And this was early snow—unusual even for this region. The beasts would be desperate.
Zian walked beside Rong after an hour of trudging through powdery drifts. "You really think we're ready for this?"
"We're not," Rong said simply. "But we don't have time to wait until we are."
Zian looked down. "Right… politics."
Rong glanced at him. "My father and grandfather made our name with blood and steel. My mother with knowledge. But those days are gone. The elders grow cautious. And Feng's faction grows bold."
"Yeah, well, not all of us want to be pawns in their games," Zian muttered.
"That's why I chose you," Rong replied. "Because you still think for yourself."
Zian blinked. "That's… the first compliment you've ever given me."
"Don't get used to it."
They made camp by a rocky ledge, the wind howling through the trees. Shen and Zian prepared a fire while Yeren strung up scent markers.
As they ate cold rice and dried meat, Shen broke the silence. "So what kind of beast are we aiming for?"
"One that suits my spirit," Rong said. "It must be fast. Quiet. And it must feed off moonlight or shadow. No brute force types."
"You're not worried about compatibility?" Shen asked.
"I'm counting on it."
Zian tilted his head. "Counting on... what?"
"On the beast resisting me," Rong said. "On it fighting hard. Because anything worth binding shouldn't be easy to tame."
"Sounds like a death wish," Shen muttered.
Rong looked at him. "Maybe. Or maybe it's the only way to forge something stronger than what this clan has settled for."
That night, as the fire crackled low and the boys drifted into uneasy sleep, Rong sat awake.
He sharpened his father's old hunting knife with steady strokes, the rasp of steel against stone the only sound in the cold air.
Yeren stirred nearby. "You don't sleep much, do you?"
Rong didn't look up. "Dreams are a distraction."
Yeren sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. "You think Li Feng's going to try to stop you?"
"He won't need to," Rong said. "He'll let the clan do it for him. If I fail, he wins without lifting a finger."
"And if you succeed?"
"Then they'll start to fear me."
Yeren was quiet for a long moment. "I think I'd rather follow someone people feared than someone who just wanted to be liked."
Rong gave a quiet, humorless smile. "Good. Because I'm not here to be liked."
Far off in the woods, something growled.
Rong stood, slipping his knife into his belt. The firelight danced across his face, casting it half in shadow.
"Wake the others," he said. "It's time."