The sparring match against Marek had left an imprint on the Crimson Veil War Sect. Whispers of Kael Voidstrider's unexpected victory spread quickly among the outer disciples. Some called it luck, others an act of desperation, but most felt an unspoken unease. The weak had fallen silent, and the strong had begun to watch him more closely.
Ravok felt their gazes, even as he walked through the outer district's sprawling grounds. They clung to him like shadows, their curiosity and suspicion palpable. It was a tool he could wield, but only when the time was right.
For now, he focused on the path ahead.
---
The Instructor's Summons
The scroll came that evening, delivered by a nervous, wide-eyed disciple. Ravok recognized the boy—a lesser talent who spent most of his time scuttling between tasks for stronger cultivators. His hands trembled slightly as he held out the message.
"Instructor Faerin… has summoned you," the boy stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ravok's crimson eyes flicked to the scroll, then back to the boy. The silence stretched, and the disciple began to fidget.
"Dismissed," Ravok said finally, taking the scroll.
The boy darted away like a startled rabbit. Ravok unrolled the message, his expression calm even as his mind churned. Faerin, the overseer of the outer disciples, rarely intervened without purpose. If he had taken notice, it meant the sect's hierarchy was shifting—or testing him.
Either way, Ravok welcomed the opportunity.
---
Instructor Faerin's Chamber
The chamber was as sparse as it was orderly, its shelves lined with cultivation manuals and neatly arranged relics. A single lamp cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, lending the space an air of quiet authority. Behind the polished stone desk sat Faerin, his sharp gaze fixed on Ravok as he entered.
"Kael," Faerin said, gesturing for him to sit. His voice was measured, but his tone carried an edge of curiosity. "It seems you've found your way back into the sect's attention."
Ravok inclined his head, his movements calm and deliberate as he took the offered seat. "Attention is rarely idle, Instructor. I assume this summons has purpose."
Faerin's lips twitched, a flicker of amusement crossing his otherwise stern face. "Direct. Good. Let us speak plainly, then. Many assumed you had resigned yourself to obscurity after the curse crippled your cultivation. Today's match, however, suggests otherwise."
Ravok's gaze didn't waver. "Resignation is a luxury I cannot afford."
Faerin studied him for a moment, his fingers steepled. "I watched the match. Your tactics were unorthodox, yet precise. You exploited terrain and psychology to counter a foe far stronger than yourself. That is… unexpected."
Ravok allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. "Strength alone is overrated. A sharp mind will outlast brute force."
Faerin leaned back, his expression unreadable. "That may be so. But this sect does not reward clever words alone. If you truly intend to rise, Kael, you will need to prove yourself."
He reached for a smaller scroll on the desk and slid it across to Ravok. "The Ashen Hollow trial begins in three days. You will participate."
---
The Ashen Hollow
Ravok unrolled the scroll, his eyes scanning the details. The trial was simple in premise but deadly in execution. The Ashen Hollow was a crumbling ruin near one of the sect's lesser rifts, a place where the boundaries of reality twisted under the influence of chaotic energy. Disciples were sent in to compete for spirit stones, relics, and other resources hidden within, but the dangers were many—hostile beasts, unstable terrain, and, most importantly, the other participants.
"Injuries are common," Faerin continued, his tone flat. "Deaths, less so, but not unheard of. Weaklings are culled, and the strong rise. If you intend to reclaim your place, this is your opportunity."
Ravok rolled the scroll shut, his crimson eyes meeting Faerin's. "Three days," he said. "Plenty of time."
Faerin gave a small nod, though his gaze lingered on Ravok. "Do not waste it."
---
Preparation for the Trial
The first night was spent in silence. Ravok sat cross-legged on the floor of Kael's decrepit hut, his mind delving into the fragments of memories left behind by this body's previous occupant. The Ashen Hollow was treacherous, its ambient energy known to disrupt even the most practiced techniques. That disruption could prove a weapon—or a death sentence.
Ravok's lips curled into a faint smirk. Let the others bring their blades and brute strength. I will bring strategy.
The second day was spent fashioning tools from the meager scraps Kael had accumulated. He sharpened broken shards of metal into makeshift spikes and tested the resilience of an old rope. They were crude, but they were enough. Ravok knew better than to rely solely on power—every advantage, no matter how small, could tip the scales.
---
The Visitor
On the evening of the second day, a knock broke the stillness. Ravok opened the door to find Lara Ironshade standing there, her sharp eyes glinting in the fading light. She was lean, her posture relaxed but her hands hovering near the twin daggers strapped to her thighs.
"Kael," she said, stepping inside without invitation. "Word travels fast. I hear you've signed up for the Ashen Hollow trial."
"And?" Ravok asked, closing the door behind her.
Lara's lips quirked into a faint smirk. "And you're either desperate or hiding something. The Kael Voidstrider I remember couldn't handle a sparring match, let alone the Hollow."
Ravok folded his arms, leaning casually against the wall. "Perhaps you misjudged me."
"Perhaps," Lara said, studying him carefully. "Or perhaps you're smarter than you let on. Either way, I'm here to propose an alliance."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Ravok raised an eyebrow but said nothing, prompting her to continue.
"The Hollow isn't just dangerous—it's full of opportunists. You might survive the beasts, but the disciples will gut you the moment your back is turned. I've been through it before. I know the terrain, the traps, and the tricks."
"And what do you want in return?" Ravok asked, his tone calm.
"An even split," Lara replied. "We share whatever we find."
Ravok tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You expect me to trust you?"
Lara shrugged. "Trust me or don't. Just know you'll have a better chance with me than without."
The silence stretched. Ravok could see the calculation in her eyes, the carefully veiled caution of someone who never truly let down their guard. He recognized the game—he had played it countless times before.
"Very well," he said finally. "An alliance. For now."
Lara's smirk widened slightly. "Smart choice. Three days, Kael. Don't die before then."
---
The Calm Before the Storm
As the third day approached, Ravok finalized his preparations. His meditation deepened, his strategies sharpened. Every step, every decision was calculated. The Ashen Hollow would not be a test of strength alone. It would be a crucible of cunning and survival.
Ravok's crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light of his hut. He wasn't simply preparing to survive. He was preparing to dominate.