Rana returned the next evening, arms full of satchels and sealed jade boxes. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with quiet resolve.
Jalen took the items without a word, inspecting each one with practiced ease. He nodded once, then turned and walked toward her quarters.
She followed, confused. "Where are you going?"
"Your room," he said. "I need to prepare the bath."
"The bath?"
"How else am I supposed to purge your corrupted qi and reset your cultivation?"
She blinked. "You're serious?"
"Deadly."
She sighed. She had come this far. No point turning back now.
—
When they arrived, Jalen moved with quiet precision. He crushed the herbs, mixed them with spirit water, and poured the concoction into a wide stone tub carved into the floor. The liquid shimmered with a deep crimson hue, steam rising in slow, curling tendrils. The scent was sharp—metallic and floral, like burning roses and scorched silk.
Rana stood at the edge, arms crossed tightly. "You're not leaving?"
"How would I be able to guide the qi and reduce your cultivation if I'm not present?"
She stared at him. "Is this a joke?"
"I'm afraid not."
She hesitated. Her heart thudded in her chest—not from fear of the ritual, but from the strange vulnerability of it. She was about to step into a bath with a boy. A powerful, unreadable boy who had seen through her cultivation, her pride, her pain.
And he was just… standing there. Calm. Composed. Like it didn't matter.
"Turn around," she muttered.
He was already facing the wall. "You know, you don't have to undress."
That helped. A little.
She stepped into the bath fully clothed. The moment her skin touched the water, she gasped. The heat wasn't just physical—it was spiritual. The flaming energy of the concoction surged into her body, racing through her meridians, coiling around her core.
It felt like swallowing hot coals.
Not damaging. But close.
She sank deeper, arms folded across her chest, acutely aware of the silence behind her. Jalen sat cross-legged just a few feet away, eyes closed, spirit sense extended. He hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. But his presence filled the room like a second heat.
She tried not to think about it—being alone in a bath with a man. A boy, yes, but not like the others. He was unreadable. Unshakable. And that made her more self-conscious than she wanted to admit.
And yet, he remained still. Unbothered. Focused.
His qi entered her body—not invasive, but precise. He guided the energy, directing it to the deepest parts of her cultivation. Then, with a single pulse of will, he began to unravel it.
Her realm collapsed.
Years of cultivation—burned away.
Her qi pool shattered. Her meridians trembled. Her dantian dimmed.
Jalen didn't speak. Didn't look. But his gaze had lingered, once or twice, in the moments before she entered the bath—just long enough to remind himself she was beautiful. Rare, even.
But he didn't indulge the thought.
He was young, yes. But not ruled by impulse.
Not here. Not now.
He kept his focus where it belonged—on the task, on the technique, on the fire he was helping her reclaim.
By the time the second night ended, she was what most would call a cripple.
But not for long.
—
On the morning of the third day, Jalen used his spirit sense to imprint a technique into Rana's mind—one of his own creation.
It was called the Spirit Fire Art.
A twelve-form cultivation technique of pure destruction, forged not from tradition but from insight. Jalen had designed it few years ago, studying up on flame qi and other flaming techniques, theorizing its movements, harmonics, and potential. But he could never practice it himself—his body lacked the flaming affinity required to wield it.
Rana, however, was different.
Her Flaming qi and Spirit Seed made her the perfect candidate. And now, with her cultivation reset and her meridians cleansed, she could begin.
For now he would only give her all the knowledge about six techniques to help her to strengthen her foundation, sharpen her attacks, and awaken the dormant seed within her.
Theses six are as follow:
The first technique: Flame Cluster: A barrage of phoenix-shaped flame projectiles, each exploding on impact like miniature firebombs. Designed to overwhelm and scatter enemies with sheer volume and intensity.
The second Technique:Scorching blanket: A defensive shroud of raging flame that wraps around the user like a living cloak. It expands up to seven feet, burns incoming attacks, and temporarily masks qi signatures—perfect for stealth and survival.
The third Technique: Dual Phoenix Flame pulse is a twofold technique:
The first pulse targets pressure points, disrupting internal qi flow—ideal for disabling foes in close combat.
The second condenses flame qi into a spear-like thrust, capable of piercing most elemental defenses with lethal precision.
The Forth technique: Ash Spiral: A rotating vortex of burning wind that traps enemies in a spiral of flame. With enough force, it can crush and incinerate targets entirely—leaving nothing but ash.
The fifth Technique: Infernal Bloom: A wide-area explosion resembling a blooming flower. Visually stunning, but devastating in force. Best used when surrounded or facing multiple opponents.
And last but not least the sixth technique: Soul Flame. A spiritual fire that marks the enemy's core. It causes delayed internal damage, lingering in the meridians and weakening them over time. Subtle, corrosive, and nearly impossible to purge.
Jalen withheld the remaining six forms—for now. They required a level of cultivation equal to his own or higher. Techniques not just of flame, but of transcendence.
Rana would need to earn them.
And when she did, the fire she wielded would no longer be borrowed—it would be hers.
—
She didn't left the bath until evening, her body weak but her spirit strangely light.
Jalen stayed with her for a another day—guiding her through the technique's structure. He taught her the breathing patterns, the flame harmonics, the way to feed the spirit seed buried in her dantian. He corrected her posture, adjusted her qi flow, and answered every question with the patience of someone who had already walked the path she was just beginning.
Eventually something had shifted between them.
Not romance. Not yet.
But trust.
—
On the fifth day, Jalen stood.
"You'll be fine from here."
Rana looked up from her seated position, steam still curling faintly from her skin. "That's it?"
"You don't need me to hold your hand every second," he said. "You're a Flare. Burn or don't."
She frowned. "And if I get stuck again?"
"Then come find me."
She blinked. "And if I improve?"
He smiled faintly. "Then definitely come find me."
He turned and walked away, his steps light, his presence already fading.
But as the door closed behind him, Rana looked down at her hands—trembling, raw, and glowing faintly with emberlight.
And for the first time in years, she felt something new.
Not pain. Not pressure.
Potential.
And maybe—just maybe—the beginning of something more.