In the secluded valley behind Notting Junior Soul Master Academy, the mist had not yet dispersed. It coiled around the stones and wild grass, carrying the faint scent of salt and resin from the whale-glue essence that still lingered in the air. The pool beside him rippled softly, reflecting the dim light of dawn.
Sanhartha sat upon the same smooth stone as the night before. The warmth from his final refinement still pulsed faintly through his veins, like hidden fire moving beneath calm water. He inhaled once, slowly, allowing the breath to steady the rhythm of his heart.
"The essence has merged," he murmured. "Now… it's time to temper the result."
Closing his eyes, he guided his consciousness inward. The soul power within him moved like a glowing tide. Through the pathways shaped by the Three Treasures Refining Visualization Technique, the energy circulated in measured flow — a dance of flame and breath.
Within the quiet depths of his mind, the Desire Heart Phoenix unfurled its wings. Golden-red light spread outward, each feather drawing in the faint essences of heaven and earth. Its cry was silent, yet the sound seemed to echo through his very bones. Every pulse of that sacred fire washed through him, burning away residue, leaving behind purity and strength.
Time passed uncounted. The rising sun found him motionless, wrapped in a halo of red light so soft it barely touched the mist. When at last he exhaled, the glow faded like a sigh returning to the world. He opened his eyes — clear, luminous, reflecting the crimson of dawn.
"My soul power… level eight." His voice was even, but within it lay a quiet thrill — not pride, but recognition of progress earned. His limbs felt lighter, his body tempered, his spirit clear as polished glass. He flexed his hand slowly, feeling the vibration of power answering the motion.
He stood, stretching his frame before moving through a set of deliberate forms — measured, rhythmic, each motion as fluid as flame in wind. The energy within him followed the motion seamlessly, flowing between muscle and meridian, body and will. The still air of the valley seemed to breathe with him; leaves trembled though no wind blew.
When his sequence ended, he walked to the spring and splashed cool water across his face. His reflection rippled — the same youthful features, but the eyes held depth beyond age, calm yet burning with intent.
Satisfied, he turned toward the academy. The morning sun was climbing higher, staining the mist gold as he entered the quiet library. The familiar scent of paper and incense wrapped around him, a sanctuary of silence. Rows of tomes stood like sentinels, their shadows long and solemn.
He searched among the shelves for records of fire-attributed soul beasts, fingers tracing the edges of parchment older than memory. Page after page yielded only fragments — names, habitats, and simplistic notes on ring skills. None spoke of essence or evolution, none of the spiritual nature of flame.
"So shallow," he thought. "Knowledge without comprehension is merely echo." His tone carried neither disdain nor anger — only the faint sorrow of one who sees the boundary others cannot cross.
Still, he lingered, reading until the sun had fallen past the windows. Somewhere among the scrolls, an ancient page caught his eye — its ink faded, its writing half-erased. Only one line remained legible:
"Those who seek the heart of fire must first withstand its silence."
He paused. The words resonated faintly within him, like a distant heartbeat. Then he closed the book gently and rose.
"The heart of fire…" he murmured. "Perhaps true understanding lies beyond written words."
Outside, the evening breeze brushed against his robes. The academy courtyard glowed with soft gold; laughter of students drifted like echoes from another world. Sanhartha walked through them silently, a solitary calm amid noise.
Inside the seventh dormitory, Wang Sheng and the others argued good-naturedly over martial soul rankings. Their laughter filled the room, anchoring the space in simple warmth. Sanhartha returned their greetings with a slight smile before lying back on his bed. His gaze fixed upon the wooden ceiling, where faint cracks formed lines like constellations.
His body had changed. His power had grown. Yet the stillness inside him deepened further — not rest, but focus.
"There's only one path left," he whispered, his voice low and thoughtful. "If I wish to evolve my martial soul, I must first understand the soul beasts ."
The thought settled like an ember in his mind, glowing with quiet intensity. He would not rush into battle as others did; the hunt could wait. Knowledge, he knew, was the truest foundation of mastery.
Outside, the wind carried the scent of rain and distant forests — the breath of the wild. The Desire Heart Phoenix stirred faintly within him, its warmth steady, neither urging battle nor rest, but curiosity.
"Fire hides its truth in silence," he thought. "Then silence shall be my teacher."
The night deepened, and Sanhartha closed his eyes — not to sleep, but to listen.