“The curse of the Black Forest is a blight upon the soul. Without a spiritual root to shield them, it brings only ruin…”

  Lulu’s lips curled in discontent at her father’s grumbling. She was half a heartbeat from bursting through the door to argue when the heavy tread of boots echoed down the corridor—she realized the commander and the others had all returned.

  Only when the footsteps faded did she ease the door open a crack and slip out.

  Timo Yang wasn’t about to miss it either. He wanted to hear what the adults had to say. He followed close behind her.

  Outside, far down the hall, Commander Fan Yi stood with the Five Deacons gathered in the infirmary’s main lobby, watching the busy healers through the glass doors.

  “This way—don’t get spotted!” Lulu whispered.

  At her signal, Timo ducked behind the reception counter with her.

  The one who had spoken was Elder Gan, the gray-robed deacon in charge of the camp’s defenses. Nearing sixty, he was at the peak of elemental mastery. Lulu was his youngest daughter. The Gan clan was the oldest bloodline in the Watch Legion, yet for all its ancient roots, Elder Gan loved nothing more than shaking things up. He had been the driving force behind introducing magitech to the legion. Progress, he always said, was the only way forward.

  “These children’s spiritual roots are damaged beyond repair,” Elder Bai said with a sigh. “They’ll likely never amount to much again. In my view, once they’re stabilized, we should keep them on to tend the herb gardens.”

  She pitied the children, yes, but she feared more what might happen if their condition was mishandled—if some mutation took hold.

  Elder Gan frowned, genuinely baffled. Innovative as he was, he never treated the legion’s ancient laws lightly.

  “The legion’s iron code is clear,” he said. “No outsiders may remain on Watch territory. To do so is treason, punishable by death. Elder Bai, have your travels across the continent made you forget that?”

  He might be nearly sixty, but his voice carried the fire of a young rebel.

  “Travel another hundred years and I still won’t forget where I came from,” Elder Bai shot back. “I’ve already expanded a new herb garden on the forest’s outer edge. It needs caretakers, and that land is neutral territory—the iron laws don’t reach it.”

  She was deliberately threading the needle of the rules, trying to quiet the opposition.

  Elder Gan wasn’t having it. “Tell me this, Elder Bai: is the garden legion property? Is it managed by our people?”

  She nodded. Her old friend had always been stubborn; once he dug in, he could argue all night and twist logic into knots.

  “Then I’ll say it plainly,” he continued. “The Child of Darkness foretold in the prophecy may already have appeared. If that child is among these orphans, the Watch Legion will be branded sinners across the Spirit Taming Continent.”

  Self-sacrifice was drilled into every legion member—one of the unbreakable tenets. The legend of the Child of Darkness had circulated for a century, but only the Watch Legion still held it close to heart.

  Elder Bai’s words silenced the room. No one dared contradict her lightly.

  “You’re declaring the Child of Darkness has come based solely on traces of necromantic blood?” came a gruff voice. “Have you started sounding like those doomsaying oracles, Elder Bai—spreading fear and shaking morale?”

  The speaker was the sentinel commander, Shanhai Wu, clad in earth-toned battle gear. The scar across his face was a badge of honor. He was Rui Guo’s brother-in-law, older than her by several years, and notoriously bullheaded. In their youth he had pursued Rui Guo fiercely, but their personalities clashed. Even as cousins, they had never been close.

  “Deacon Wu is right,” Elder Gan added. “Whether it’s truly necromantic blood requires the Holy Domain’s Saint Lord to confirm. And if it turns out to be a plague curse instead? Elder Bai, you brought them straight into camp—aren’t you afraid of inviting disaster?”

  Elder Bai’s expression darkened. This was exactly why she hated staying in the legion—endless petty squabbles that made her feel like an eighty-year-old troublemaker with ill intent.

  “Enough,” Rui Guo cut in suddenly. “Let me ask one thing. If these were your own children, spiritual roots torn out—what would you do with them?”

  Silence fell heavy over the deacons.

  For elemental masters, losing a spiritual root was worse than death.

  “Follow Elder Bai’s plan,” Commander Fan Yi said at last. His voice lacked its earlier vigor; exhaustion dragged at him. “It’s settled. Not only will we teach them medical arts, we’ll train them in physical techniques as well.”

  Since witnessing the hanged bodies of the Thunderhawk squad, the commander had been bleeding inside. He knew their strength intimately—they could escape any trap. Even the combined might of the Five Deacons had once failed to corner all five members. With cutting-edge magitech at their disposal, they moved like ghosts.

  If they had truly died protecting these children and the rootless prisoners… it would fit the Watch Legion’s creed perfectly.

  Like Rui Guo, the commander stared at the reflections in the glass—shadowy figures of the broken children. Neither could quite believe it.

  “I still can’t fathom how the Evil Cultivators found the cursed ground,” he said quietly. “How did they slip past every Watch Legion sentinel?”

  The question came from Deacon Lan, head of reconnaissance. His words carried the most weight; they were the ones that truly needed dissecting. His scouts lived under false names across the continent, always delivering firsthand intelligence. He was the same age as Timo’s late father and had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the former commander many times. His methods were meticulous.

  Rui Guo’s suspicion of him eased at that.

  She scanned every face in the room. No one ventured a theory; they all fell silent.

  “I’ve been wondering,” Deacon Lan continued, “if a cultist of the evil cultivators has infiltrated us. Heping Town is neutral ground—it draws every kind of person. Some of our own could have been swayed.”

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  Rui Guo’s thoughts aligned perfectly with his, but years of caution held her tongue. Until she knew who the black-cloaked assassin in the underground palace had been, she would say nothing.

  “We’ll discuss this properly tomorrow,” Commander Fan Yi declared. “Deacon Lan, multiple factions have their eyes on the spiritual veins in Watch territory right now. Nothing is certain. Double patrols. Any sign of trouble—report to me immediately.”

  “Understood!”

  With that, the commander left the infirmary. The deacons filed out after him.

  Only Rui Guo lingered. The memory of the black-robed crone devouring a spiritual root stone sent chills through her. Who could have invented the extraction device? All for mastery of the five elements, to tame spirits and ascend to godhood.

  Timo was so absorbed he didn’t notice the hand on his shoulder until someone tapped him.

  He spun around—Yue Yang, with Fei and Wanwan behind her.

  Without a word, Yue Yang dragged her brother straight to Rui Guo and bowed deeply.

  “Thank you for saving our lives, Aunt Guo,” she signed rapidly. “It’s all Timo’s fault—he shouldn’t have gone to the Black Forest. He almost got Fei killed. I’m so sorry.”

  Understanding his sister, Timo hung his head and bowed low.

  “I’m not dead yet!” Fei protested, thumping his chest with confidence. “You don’t owe anyone anything. I know my duty. I’m a warrior—if I die, I die a hero.”

  Rui Guo managed a rare smile at seeing her son unharmed. She ruffled Fei’s hair.

  “Captain Guo is right,” Fei added proudly. “I know my mission clearly. Evil Cultivators—every soul must see them destroyed!”

  Rui Guo’s smile lingered as she clapped her son’s shoulder.

  “Enough for tonight. The future belongs to you young ones now. Get some rest.”

  She glanced at Timo, hesitated a moment, then strode out of the infirmary with long, decisive steps.

  The Storm That Never Awakened

  A harsh, rattling cough cut through the quiet.

  Heads turned. In the shadowed corner of the infirmary, a girl hunched over, her face ashen and drawn.

  “It’s you!” Wanwan hurried over, recognition lighting her eyes. “You’ve been unconscious this whole time—I thought… Are you hungry?”

  This was the ponytail girl, the only one among the rescued children who hadn’t stirred until now. The healers had strict orders: no child left the medical wing, not even for food.

  “Where… where am I?” The girl’s voice was small and shaky. She tried to push herself up, legs trembling beneath her, mind foggy and unreachable.

  “Something… inside my body…”

  She struggled to form the words, as if something clamped down on her throat. Then her legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, coughing violently, a spatter of blood hitting the floor.

  “Help… please, help me!” The plea came out hoarse and desperate before she collapsed, body convulsing.

  Wanwan caught her, cradling the girl against her chest. Soft blue light flowed from her palms—water-element healing energy seeping into the frail frame.

  “That’s strange…” Wanwan frowned, checking pulse points and skin. “She seems perfectly healthy. Healthier than the others, actually.”

  “Let me see.”

  Yue Yang signed the words, then activated her Pure Spirit Gaze.

  A gentle, purifying radiance poured from her eyes. The moment it touched the girl, the tension in her muscles eased; her breathing steadied, and she relaxed into Wanwan’s arms.

  “Looks like I’m staying the night,” Yue Yang signed with a weary smile.

  Timo caught the gesture and stepped to her side without hesitation. “I’ll stay too, sis. From now on… I might only be fit for apprentice work. Teach me how to heal. I want to learn from you.”

  The words warmed Yue Yang’s heart. She ruffled his hair affectionately, then turned to Fei, who still looked drained from his injuries. Her hands moved quickly.

  “Fei, go rest. This is healers’ work now. Thank you for looking after Timo. He’s lost his chance to awaken… he won’t be able to train with you anymore.”

  Fei knew what tomorrow would bring. Once the deadline passed, Timo would be classified as unawakened—an apprentice relegated to support roles, barred from frontline danger.

  What Fei couldn’t wrap his head around was why. He remembered clearly: Timo had once stirred wind essence. He had awakened it himself with nothing more than absorbed wind spirit medicine. Why had the rare herbs Elder Bai gathered done nothing for him? The question gnawed at Fei, but this wasn’t the moment to dwell on sentiment. Yue Yang might think less of him for it.

  He bowed politely. “Thank you for your care, Healer Yang. I’ll take my leave.”

  “Fei…” Timo called as he turned away.

  Fei paused. Timo bowed low, voice thick. “Thank you—for everything. For believing in me, for helping me.”

  He hated this. Hated the bitterness rising in his throat. But he refused to drag a warrior like Fei down. If he hadn’t been so weak, the ice evil cultivator and fire evil cultivator would never have overwhelmed Fei like that.

  Timo swallowed hard, forcing tears back, standing straight. “If this is my fate… I accept it. I’ll still train body techniques with you—as long as you don’t mind me being slow.”

  Lulu, lingering nearby, rolled her eyes dramatically. She couldn’t stand the melodrama.

  “You’re all acting like someone died,” she huffed. “Quit being so sappy. Who says magitech can’t help? Elder Gan says out in the wider world, even the rootless rise to power. Timo, you’re not dead yet!”

  The heavy air lightened, and for once, Fei found himself agreeing with her—Fei, who usually resisted magitech with every fiber.

  If the technology could empower apprentices who never awakened, even augment full elementalists… why fight it?

  With that thought, he returned to the elementalists’ dormitory and slipped into a recovery pod, sleep claiming him quickly.

  Back in the ward, the girl had fallen into a deep slumber. Wanwan carefully carried her to a cot.

  Yue Yang and Timo followed, moving among the children, checking vitals and easing lingering pain.

  A faint whimper—“It hurts…”—drew Yue Yang to another bed. She activated her Pure Spirit Gaze again, cleansing the child’s body with gentle light.

  Timo watched, gratitude and guilt warring inside him. Without Rui Guo’s rescue, he might have ended up just like these kids—root stolen, enslaved to the evil cultivators.

  Then again… maybe not. His gaze sharpened. Lulu would have survived. She’d stolen the magic poison powder, after all. He needed to learn from her—whatever it took.

  He glanced around for her, only to realize she’d vanished again.

  After today, their paths would rarely cross. She was the brightest talent of their generation—maybe even a future commander.

  The thought settled like a weight. Timo sighed and looked at his sister, head lowered.

  “Sis, teach me how to use the Pure Spirit Gaze. You rest—I’ll take over.”

  Wanwan, assisting the exhausted Yue Yang, perked up. The work was light for a one-element healer like her.

  “She’s right,” Wanwan said. “You two are blood siblings. What if only your lineage can awaken the Gaze?”

  Yue Yang had never considered it. At Wanwan’s suggestion, she unclasped the necklace—their mother’s keepsake—and pressed it into Timo’s hand, urging him to try.

  Timo focused, gathering what little wind essence he could muster. A faint breeze stirred, wrapping the pendant in mist… but nothing more. No purifying light.

  “Wait—I think I see something,” he murmured. “Where is this?”

  Wanwan peered closely at the haze around the jewel and shook her head. “Nothing unusual.”

  “You’re wind aspect, I’m water,” Yue Yang signed. “Wind essence can’t activate the purification.”

  She rubbed his head again, understanding he only wanted to ease her burden.

  “I’m fine. The Gaze uses very little energy. Don’t worry. Learn with us for now—rest when you’re tired.”

  She signed once more. Timo nodded firmly and carefully fastened the necklace back around her neck.

  His memories of their parents were fragments—sister’s diaries, a handful of faded photos. He knew what the pendant meant to her. More than anything, he wanted to grow strong enough to protect her.

  “Timo, come out here a sec.”

  Lulu’s voice from the doorway. Yue Yang didn’t stop him; he hurried out.

  “Where’d you disappear to?”

  “Night training,” Lulu said with a shrug. “Sky looks stormy—good chance to feel lightning essence. I have to get stronger.”

  “You know I can’t awaken anymore. Are you trying to rub it in?”

  “Nah. Aunt Guo wants to see you. Said it’s important.”

  Rui Guo? Timo’s pulse quickened. He followed Lulu out of the medical wing.

  Yue Yang finished purifying another child and caught snatches of their conversation from down the hall. Worry creased her brow. So late—what could Timo possibly be hiding?

  She caught up and grabbed Lulu’s arm.

  “What does Aunt Guo want with Timo?”

  Lulu glanced at Yue Yang’s pale, flawless hand, then pointed outside, then at Timo—guessing the question.

  “I asked,” Lulu said. “She wouldn’t say. But she looked dead serious.”

  Yue Yang’s hands flew in rapid signs. Timo saw Lulu struggling to follow and translated.

  “In the underground palace… besides the black water, nothing else happened, right?”

  Lulu shook her head vigorously. “Nothing… except a black-cloaked figure wielding lightning essence ambushed Aunt Guo. Broke through her perfect defense.”

  Yue Yang’s eyes widened in shock. Suddenly it made sense—why Rui Guo had worn such a grim expression ever since.

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