The seventh dormitory, home to Notting Junior Soul Master Academy's working students, buzzed with the warmth of evening noise. Laughter and chatter spilled through the wooden walls, the air thick with youthful energy and faint traces of lamp oil.
When Sanhartha reached the door, he paused for a breath, adjusting the strap of his bag before knocking gently. The conversation inside stilled; several curious faces turned toward the entrance.
"Hello," Sanhartha said with calm courtesy, "is this the seventh dormitory?"
A lean boy with a spirited grin stepped forward, his voice brimming with pride. "Yeah, it is. You must be the new working student?"
Sanhartha smiled faintly. "Yes, I arrived today."
The boy puffed his chest slightly. "Name's Wang Sheng," he said, summoning his martial soul with practiced ease. A golden tiger shadow flashed behind him — powerful, if a little untamed. "I'm the boss here. Newcomers usually have to challenge the boss to earn their place."
Sanhartha regarded him for a quiet moment, the flicker of amusement in his gaze almost invisible. "I see. But I have no wish to fight over such things. We share one roof; let's simply get along."
The other boy blinked, surprised by the simple refusal. Then, slowly, a grin tugged at his lips. "Heh. You're different, kid. Alright, I'll let it slide this time."
The atmosphere relaxed. Sanhartha walked to an empty corner, arranging his bedding neatly, his movements methodical but unhurried. The others resumed their chatter, curiosity lingering in their glances.
A short while later, Teacher Lu Yang entered. His steps were steady, his gaze sweeping through the room before settling on the newcomer.
"The new working student, step forward," Lu Yang said.
Sanhartha obeyed. The teacher handed him a small schedule slip and explained his duties. "As a working student, you'll perform chores around the academy — cleaning, errands, maintenance. Choose carefully; some tasks are harder than they look."
"Understood, Teacher," Sanhartha replied respectfully. "If possible, I would like to work in the library."
Lu Yang raised a brow, faintly intrigued. Most children sought easy work, not dusty archives. "The library, hmm? Very well. Report there tomorrow after class."
When the teacher departed, the dorm settled again. Wang Sheng tilted his head. "The library? You sure you won't die of boredom?"
Sanhartha gave a slight smile. "Knowledge doesn't bore me. It sharpens the blade before the strike."
That night, when the others drifted into sleep, Sanhartha sat under the dim lamplight, tracing characters on a scrap of parchment. His hand moved carefully, memorizing each symbol of this new world's script.
"To learn anything, I must first learn their words," he thought. "Language is the gate to understanding."
In the days that followed, his life took on rhythm. Mornings were spent in lessons, afternoons in chores, evenings in study. Within two days, his memory had mastered the common script. Within half a month, he could read and write with fluent precision.
At the library, he became a quiet fixture among the scrolls and shelves. When his assigned tasks ended, he often lingered long after others left, reading by the last light of dusk. History, martial theory, geography — each page fed a mind that refused to rest.
One afternoon, as he was sorting a stack of old scrolls, his hand brushed against something familiar — the letter from his storage pouch, the one Old Luo had entrusted to him. He unfolded it carefully, tracing each stroke of the foreign script until the words became clear.
Your father, San Yan, was a twenty-sixth rank Grand Soul Master with the Fire Bird martial soul. Your mother, Hei Hearth, was an eighteenth rank One-Ring Soul Master, her martial soul the Desire Heart Bead. Both were members of the Starlight Hunters — a ten-member soul-hunting group under my leadership. I, Mo Fan, thirty-fourth rank Soul Elder with the Blazing Lion martial soul, witnessed their end. They perished during a hunt, protecting the team from a berserk soul beast. The pouch you now hold once belonged to them. If fate allows, come find me — I will aid you as best I can. As for your name, I combined your father's and mother's to form Sanhartha.
When he finished reading, Sanhartha sat in silence. The faint glow of the lamp reflected in his eyes — calm, unshaken, yet deeper than before.
"So, they truly are gone." The words were almost a whisper.
He folded the letter carefully, tucking it back into the pouch. The quiet that followed was not grief, but resolution — a stillness sharpened into purpose.
"If the family I was born to cannot protect me," he murmured, "then I will build one strong enough to protect all it holds dear."
Outside, the last light of day bled into gold. Sanhartha looked toward the horizon, the faint reflection of dusk dancing across his eyes.
Tomorrow, he would continue his study. Tomorrow, he would refine again.
For now, the boy sat in stillness, a single ember of will glowing steadily within him — quiet, patient, waiting for the wind that would make it rise.