As dawn broke over Ember Pearl City, the fire sigils dimmed and the air began to settle. The grand tournament was over. Cheers had faded to memories, and now came the movement that followed victory—departure.
Sects and families began to withdraw, their flags folding, formation carriages rolling out through the southern arches beneath ceremonial guard. The Scarlet Gate—once a passage for ambition—now echoed with silence and retreat.
The Vernon Continent's delegation was among the first to leave. Patriarch Ronald Hewitt, alongside the other nine family heads, guided their disciples and elders down the flame-glass avenues toward the outbound flight formation.
Not everyone left.
Sion, Delra, and the other Vernon cultivators who'd received Ember Clan invitations stayed behind—escorted quietly to the Ember Clan mountain quarters by disciples in silver robes. Their families watched them go, pride mingled with uncertainty.
Ronald glanced once toward the four young geniuses of the Hewitt family and smile proudly, wishing them the best.
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In shadowed corners, quiet fury brewed.
The Shadow Sect and Erupt Family had spent days spinning plots—threads meant to cut Jalen when the flame died down. But with Simon Flare now declared an Imperial Realm cultivator, those plans turned brittle. The risk outweighed revenge.
And so... they waited.
"He'll be alone eventually," one muttered in silence. "Then we'll act."
They didn't pursue. Not now.
But fire can wait beneath ash.
As the Flare delegation prepared to leave Ember Pearl City, final farewells echoed along the jade terraces. Formation carriages awaited. Cultivators bowed and stepped aside. But then—Crown Prince Kia Ember Pearl arrived.
Clad in embroidered silk and accompanied by attendants, he approached with a practiced smile—sunlight catching his phoenix crest just so. He brought wine. Apologies. A farewell mask.
But no one mistook his intent.
"Lady Rana," Kia said, voice syrup-smooth, "grace like yours shouldn't depart without a final toast. Or perhaps… a promise to return?"
Elder Shia scowled discreetly. Others followed suit. But none dared speak—Kia was heir to the throne, and dangerous.
Rana bowed with careful restraint.
"Your Highness. We thank you. But we must return home. Our family awaits."
Kia leaned in, smile sharpening.
"Then stay. Just a few more days. You... and Lady Jana."
A voice cut through the air—calm, but unmistakably pointed. "Inviting someone's fiancée for drinks in front of her betrothed? That's bold."
Heads turned. Jalen stood just behind Rana, gaze steady, tone unflinching.
Rana flushed. Even Simon Flare blinked—surprised by the boy's audacity. He'd never seen Jalen speak like that. Not to royalty.
Kia's smile vanished.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me."
Jalen didn't blink.
Normally, provocations like this wouldn't stir him. He wasn't one for theatrics, and certainly not for posturing. But this—this was different.
Rana wasn't truly his fiancée. Not officially. Not by oath. But the entire Ruona continent believed it. And in a world where perception shaped power, that belief carried weight.
So when Crown Prince Kia—an heir cloaked in entitlement—dared to flirt with her in front of him, it wasn't just disrespect. It was a challenge. A public attempt to belittle him.
And Jalen, for all his silence and restraint, was still a man with his own dignity.
He wouldn't stand idle while an imperial peacock tried to pluck feathers from someone he'd fought to protect.
Not today.
Not ever.
Jana stepped forward quickly, voice smooth and diplomatic.
"We're honored, Your Majesty. But I'm afraid we must decline. Our family awaits our return."
Kia's gaze hardened.
"Then perhaps that insolent boy should leave something behind. A reminder of his manners."
He turned to Jalen.
"Your arm. That should suffice."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut steel.
Jalen turned to Rana hugged her and place a kiss on her cheek. "I'll go ahead sweetheart."
She nodded, cheeks red lips pressed tight.
Jalen levitated skyward—calm, poised.
Kia moved to block him. Qi flared. His mid moon Realm energy burst forth, crashing down like a meteor to crush him from the sky.
But Jalen didn't fall.
He evaded with ghost-like ease—then in one fluid motion, conjured a blade of condensed qi.
A wind blade, thin as breath and sharp as silence.
This was his fifth technique of his Spirit Wind Art: Tornado Slash.
And in that breath—
He sliced clean.
Kia's right arm fell through the air like dead silk. Note that this happened so easily because he had grossly underestimated his opponent. He was careless.
The crowd gasped. Elders froze. Even Simon Flare blinked—expression unreadable.
"Arrogance costs more than pride," someone whispered.
Kia snarled, already channeling regenerative qi. His arm began to reattach.
But three early moon Realm guards emerged, their auras crashing down like oceans on stone. Over a hundred flaming strikes rained toward Jalen in seconds.
He dodged every one.
Then—spirit sense surged from his spirit sea. A single pulse.
And the three guards froze—spasming mid-air, aura cracking.
They dropped back, trembling. Terrified.
Simon's gaze sharpened.
That spirit sense… it's Moon Realm. Peak.
What else is he hiding? Simon wondered.
Kia—arm whole again—roared and prepared to strike with full force.
But before his fist flew—
A mental signal echoed through the spiritual field. Emperor Phillip.
All nearby cultivators felt it: Retreat. Immediately.
Kia grit his teeth.
Then hissed:
"You won't be so lucky next time."
He left with his guards.
Jalen didn't flinch. Didn't glance back. Because if he was stronger, then the prince wouldn't have left at all. But since that's not the case this man get to live to see another day.
Jana Flare watched the prince disappear into the shadowed halls of the imperial pavilion, his attendants scrambling behind him like scattered ashes.
She exhaled slowly and turned to her husband.
Simon said nothing.
He didn't need to. His aura was calm, but his spirit sense still pulsed faintly—scanning, not for threats, but for consequences. That gesture Jalen had made... it hadn't just shifted the power balance. It had declared boundary.
Rana remained quiet. Her gaze lingered on the space Jalen had once occupied—skyward, still vibrating with the memory of his blade. A thousand cultivators had watched it happen. And even now, none knew how to describe it.
"It felt like he vanished between breaths," Elder Shia murmured. "Even I couldn't sense the transition."
Riven nodded, grave. "He didn't move against a realm. He moved against expectation."
Simon finally spoke. "He warned the empire... without saying a word."
Jana's fan clicked open—not in threat, but in contemplation.
"I wonder," she said, "if the boy even realizes what he just did."
At that, Simon allowed a brief smile.
Then, overhead, the formation sky shimmered faintly—a signal that departure permissions were restored. The Flame Carriage adjusted position, floating into place as the Flare delegation leave.
As the flame carriage lifted, wind swept the terrace in a hush. Cultivators watched the Flare delegation disappear into the sky, but no one spoke. Reverence—tinged with something colder—settled in their throats.
Only Emperor Phillip remained on the terrace, unmoved. He stood with arms folded, expression carved from duskstone, watching the horizon.