When Kaelen opened his eyes again, the world was dim.No rivers of fire this time — only smoke and silence.
He lay in a narrow cavern cell, walls breathing faint heat. The crimson chains were gone, but their pattern lingered faintly beneath his translucent skin, like ghostly veins that pulsed when he moved. The serpent within him — that dull gray coil — stirred quietly, a soundless hiss echoing in his mind.
It had been days since the seal burned into his chest. He could tell from the weakening glow of the mountain veins beyond his walls — the sect's internal clock. Every sunrise above ground dimmed the magma below.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Kaelen's awareness sharpened instantly. He could sense the flow of energy before he heard the voices — that faint ripple of spiritual rhythm moving through flesh and bone. Two figures stopped outside his cell, their meridian flows sluggish but distinct. Disciples — not guards this time.
"He's the one Master Joren sent for?""No, that one's being refined tomorrow. This one's a newborn. Spirit-grade three, no physical shell yet. We're supposed to deliver it to the Conversion Hall."
A brief silence."Poor thing won't last the month."
The door shuddered open, runes crackling across the frame. Kaelen didn't move. He could feel their suspicion like heat. His form looked almost human now — faint and ghostly, his edges wavering like candle smoke. The serpent's essence had woven itself into him, solidifying the illusion of flesh.
When one of the disciples bent down to inspect him, Kaelen caught the outline of their Qi meridians — faint threads of gold and red spiraling down the arms. His Spectral Meridian Insight flared quietly. He followed the pattern, memorizing how their spiritual flow pulsed, how it anchored the physical form.
So that's how it worked — the bridge between energy and flesh. If he could mirror the flow… he might be able to mimic it.
When the disciple reached to grab him, Kaelen let instinct take over. He let his essence ripple inward, the gray serpent coiling through his veins and spreading its energy like a net. The surface of his body darkened — the faint translucence turning into flesh, pores, and warmth.
To them, he must have looked like a trembling young man: thin, pale, with smoke-black hair and eyes that caught faint flickers of red in the dark.
"Another body manifestation," one muttered. "They're getting faster these days.""Doesn't matter. Keep it bound."
The other pressed a sigil onto Kaelen's wrist. The slave mark pulsed once, dimly — an echo of the greater seal already inside him. The two symbols resonated for a moment, then went still, merging beneath his skin.
They didn't notice the faint shimmer of resistance buried under the seal.
The serpent had dulled it — not erased, but hidden.
They dragged him through a series of corridors, each carved with runes that hummed softly as they passed. The mountain was a maze of glowing veins, crimson rivers of molten energy running beneath polished black floors. From time to time, Kaelen glimpsed cages filled with flickering spirits — some writhing, some silent, all marked with seals like his.
The Conversion Hall loomed at the end of the passage. It wasn't a hall at all but a vast forge chamber. Molten light poured through grates in the ceiling, and the air reeked of scorched metal and incense.
On the far side, human disciples sat in meditation circles, their spirit flames flickering like lamps as they absorbed energy from crystals embedded in the walls. Overseers in blood-colored robes watched from above, their eyes bright with power.
Kaelen was shoved toward the center dais, where a woman in dark robes stood — the seal master. Her voice carried like smoke across stone.
"Another stray spirit?" she asked without looking up."Yes, Overseer Ren.""Grade?""Three, newly formed. Exhibits partial consciousness."She turned then, her gaze cutting through him like a blade. "Partial consciousness?"
Kaelen kept his head bowed, concealing the flicker of intelligence in his eyes.
The woman circled him once, her Qi flowing sharp and fast — a storm beneath silk. He traced its path through her body, watching the meridian currents swirl in controlled precision. So that's how a cultivator stabilized form — balance through the heart meridian first.
It was beautiful. Efficient.
"You will serve in the Outer Work Division," she said at last. "Mining, essence refinement, or body tempering. You'll be fed three motes of fire Qi a day. Fail to report for extraction, and your seal will combust. Understood?"
Kaelen bowed slightly. "Understood."
The voice that came out surprised even him. Rough, low — but steady.A faint spark of amusement crossed her face. "At least this one can talk."
When they led him out, he kept his pace even, memorizing every pulse of energy, every scent of ash and ember. The serpent stirred in his chest — hungry again.
Later, he whispered inwardly. Not yet.
The Outer Work Division sat near the mountain's base — a vast network of caverns lit by faint blue flames. Here, hundreds of lesser spirits and low-ranked disciples labored together, their chains humming in rhythm with the sect's core. Tools struck stone. Energy veins were drawn from the walls in glowing lines that shimmered like molten glass.
Kaelen's assigned task was simple: extract fire-essence from the veins without shattering them. It was tedious, but he didn't mind. Each strike, each spark that flew, revealed another glimpse of the world's structure — how essence bled from the core into the flowstones, how formation lines regulated energy flow.
He was learning the world through labor.
By the third day, he had mastered the rhythm. By the fifth, he could channel enough energy to mimic fatigue, breathing just hard enough to look human.
By the seventh, he had already mapped the meridian patterns of three overseers.
The serpent coiled tighter each time he watched them channel Qi.He began to understand.
Their cultivation paths weren't like his. They refined flame Qi from the veins, cycling it through their hearts and dantians. But Kaelen could trace the movement visually, something no ordinary spirit could do.
He didn't have a dantian — not anymore. But he had the serpent.
And the serpent devoured energy differently.
That night, after the overseers dismissed the workers, Kaelen lingered behind. The faint glow of magma reflected off the walls, painting his face in deep scarlet. He closed his eyes and reached inward. The serpent stirred immediately, sensing his intent.
"Show me," he whispered.
The world dimmed. He could feel the threads of energy pulsing through his surroundings — thousands of fine lines weaving into a single current. Slowly, he began to draw them inward. The air trembled. Sparks danced across his skin, and the sigils on his chest flickered faintly in protest.
He ignored them.
The serpent's form sharpened — its dull gray scales glowing faintly, like silver dust beneath moonlight. The influx of energy didn't hurt this time; it merged. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, a faint voice echoed from the cavern mouth:
"Hey— you! Why are you still here?"
Kaelen turned. Another worker — a half-spirit youth with cracked seals across his wrists — stared at him from the shadows.
For a heartbeat, Kaelen considered silencing him. Then he remembered the overseers' eyes, the daily inspections. Killing would only draw attention.
"I… was finishing extraction," Kaelen said evenly.
The youth squinted, clearly unconvinced. "Don't push your luck. The overseers don't like anyone alone after dark."
Kaelen nodded, feigning fatigue. "Understood."
As the youth left, Kaelen's gaze lingered on the glowing veins around him.
This world — this sect — was built on patterns of energy, like veins in a living body. And if he could read those veins…
He could rewrite them.
The serpent hissed softly, almost approving.
He exhaled, slow and controlled, and the flickering energy lines faded from sight. The night's silence returned.
For now, he would bide his time — study, mimic, and learn the rhythm of flesh.
But one day soon, the smoke would burn away, and something greater would crawl out of the fire.