Darkness.
Heavy, thick, and endless.
Shadow floated in it, weightless. The echoes of lightning and fire still roared in his ears, distant now, like the final rumblings of a receding storm.
Then—
Light.
A sharp breath. A sudden pulse of pain.
He gasped, eyes shooting open.
A low ceiling of wooden beams. The faint scent of medicinal herbs. He tried to sit up but groaned, his ribs ablaze with pain.
"Careful. You're not dead, but it seems you tried very hard to be."
The voice was familiar.
Shadow turned his head.
Seated beside his bed was the elder who had given him ten low-grade spirit stones after Elder Yan's death. His robes were faded gray, his hair tied back in a tight knot, and his eyes held a weary calm.
The man poured tea into a chipped cup.
"Three hours. That's how long you were out. I was told the arena shook like it was cracking open during your fight. And yet here you are. Alive."
Shadow exhaled, pain shooting through his chest.
"Barely."
The elder nodded. "Barely can still become something great. Or something foolish."
He handed Shadow the tea.
Shadow sipped it slowly, letting the warmth cut through the ache.
"Why are you here, Elder?" Shadow asked.
"Because you shouldn't be."
That made him pause.
"You shouldn't have survived that fight. Jin Yu is one of the sect's monsters in the making. The fact you stood against him, even wounded, means either you're blessed by fate or blind to death."
Shadow smiled weakly. "Maybe both."
The elder leaned back, arms crossed.
"So what now? You proved yourself. You shocked the sect. Rest. Heal. Leave it behind. There's no shame in walking away. You defied expectations. That's enough."
Shadow set the cup down and shook his head.
"No. I'm not done."
The elder raised an eyebrow.
"Then what do you want, Shadow?"
Shadow's gaze was steady, filled with steel.
"The inner sect. I'll reach it. No matter the cost."
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then the elder sighed.
"Of course you would say that. Like your master. Always dreaming of heaven from the dirt."
Shadow didn't flinch. "He taught me to never kneel."
The elder studied him.
"And your cultivation? I've been watching. You have no spiritual roots. No dantian that behaves normally. And yet you cultivate faster than most. You created techniques that shouldn't exist. What are you doing, boy?"
Shadow hesitated.
Then spoke.
"I steal it. From the sky. From the storms. I force the heavens to give me what they refused. My body doesn't absorb—it takes. When I nearly died, I understood something. There's a crack between life and death, where the soul can reach beyond. That's where my energy comes from."
The elder stared.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Madness. Absolute madness. But perhaps... genius."
Shadow forced himself upright. Pain lanced through his body, but he welcomed it.
"The finals are in three days. I'll be ready."
The elder scoffed. "You're half-dead. You can't even stand without shaking."
"Then I'll shake until I don't."
He closed his eyes, reaching inward. The thunder in his dantian pulsed—wilder than before, but stable. Shadow gritted his teeth and drew it into his meridians, circulating it slowly.
In his mind, a vision formed.
A movement art.
Not one of speed alone—but of timing. Of rhythm.
"Thunder Steps."
He began analyzing his battles—each dodge, each charge. When did he move? When did lightning strike? The answer was always the same: a heartbeat before the enemy.
He shaped the concept.
Step One: Surge. A controlled burst of spiritual energy to shift the body with precision.
Step Two: Echo. A delay, to feint or mislead, baiting the opponent's strike.
Step Three: Break. The instant of contact—moving not away, but into a new angle, just before impact.
He would step like lightning—not flowing, but striking.
Inwardly, he tested the energy pattern.
He failed.
He tried again. And again.
Each time, pain bloomed, but his understanding grew.
Until, finally, he felt it.
A sudden shift of energy. His body moved half a step sideways, faster than his thoughts. The wind from the movement brushed against the wall.
Shadow opened his eyes.
"Thunder Steps," he whispered. "You won't see it until it's too late."
The elder looked amused.
"You're planning techniques while half-conscious?"
Shadow smiled faintly.
"That's the only time the heavens listen."
And with that, he began.
Three days.
To heal.
To rise.
To prepare for his greatest challenge yet.
The elder stood slowly, his expression unreadable. He looked at Shadow one last time.
"Then go, boy," he said softly. "Let the heavens see what they've tried to bury."
He turned without another word and stepped out, the door creaking shut behind him.
Shadow remained still for a moment, then drew a deep breath. The pain had lessened. His bones ached, but no longer screamed. His energy flowed freely.
He had reached eighty percent recovery.
More than enough.
He stood.
Wounds wrapped. Blade bound to his back.
And stepped out into the light.
Toward the finals.