Eira’s body trembled as she fought to stay upright, her breath ragged and shallow. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across her face—just a flash, but enough to crack the mask she wore. “...I’m not weak,” she said, the words fragile, almost defensive. She shook her head quickly, as if trying to erase the doubt from her thoughts. “I won’t… I can’t… let you down.”

  Her master’s expression softened, but his voice stayed firm, laced with something rare: urgency. “You’re not weak, Eira. But you’re Kaelithian. You carry the Phoenix system—it burns bright, and then it crashes. Every ten years, without fail. I know this is your first time going through it. You don’t recognize the signs, but I do.”

  His voice grew quieter now, more gentle. He held out a hand, his eyes locked onto hers. “Please. You’ve already proven yourself. You’ve shown me everything I needed to see. Now... choose to live. Choose to rest. Let me help you.”

  For a moment, Eira didn’t move. Her sword drooped slightly in her grip, and her chest rose and fell with effort. Then, slowly, her gaze dropped. The truth of it settled in—he was right. Her limbs were shaking, her vision swimming. Her pride had carried her this far, but it could no longer keep her on her feet.

  “…You’re right,” she murmured, barely audible, but the words were real. Honest. Her sword dipped lower until the tip touched the ground. “I’m… I’m not invincible.”

  Her master, Kjell Rolf, gave a quiet nod, the tension in his expression easing as he stepped forward to steady her. His voice was calm, almost gentle. “None of us are invincible. But that’s why we have to know when to stop. Strength isn’t just about fighting—it’s about knowing when to hold back, too.”

  Before he could say more, two boys approached from across the training grounds, their steps brisk and respectful.

  “Master Kjell Rolf,” one of them said, both bowing with hands clasped in front of them. After the formal greeting, they moved to stand beside Vidar, their gazes fixed on the scene before them—on Eira, exhausted but still standing, and Kjell, ever the unshaken pillar.

  The boys wore the standard dark blue tunics of the Wolfstone School of Combat, their insignia—a silver wolf paw—embroidered neatly over their left shoulders.

  Wolfstone was more than just an academy; it was the heart of martial excellence in Krystalforge City. The largest and only formal combat school in the region, it had earned its reputation through generations of elite training. Students came from far and wide—many from Umbralyn village, others from neighboring towns—each hoping to earn a place among the few who could call themselves Wolfstone-trained.

  But Wolfstone didn’t just train warriors. It trained tamers—individuals gifted with the rare ability to form bonds with beasts, especially the legendary ones that most would never even glimpse in a lifetime. It was a school where the wild and the disciplined coexisted, where combat training was fused with the ancient art of beast-summoning, and where instinct and precision were honed in equal measure.

  However, the academy had one cruel, unspoken truth woven into its foundations—one that every student knew but few dared to dwell on: even if they were strong enough to tame a phoenix, they were never permitted to ride it. That privilege was reserved only for the rarest of tamers—those who were not just skilled, but exceptional on a near-mythical level. For the rest, the phoenix remained a powerful ally, but forever out of reach.

  Worse still, a rule harsher than any combat lesson awaited every student: after ten years of training, no matter how deep the bond or how loyal the beast, the connection with their phoenix had to be severed. If not, both the tamer and the creature would die. The reason was rooted in the very nature of the phoenix system—its burning, symbiotic magic was simply too intense to sustain indefinitely. The bond, once forged, burned hot and bright—but it could not last.

  Breaking that bond meant giving up the very thing they had poured years of their lives into mastering. Once severed, the power to command phoenixes vanished with it. Everything they had built, everything they had sacrificed, unraveled in an instant. And yet, it was the price every student was forced to pay.

  The two Wolfstone boys stood silently, their gazes fixed on Eira, who, even now, struggled to stay upright. Her resolve was beyond anything they had been taught, her presence far more than just technique or strength—it was raw, lived experience. Compared to her, they looked younger than ever, like children still fumbling to understand the weight of the world they were stepping into.

  They wore their uniforms with pride, though—deep storm-gray tunics that clung close to their forms, built for agility and movement. The fabric shimmered faintly, edged with delicate silver embroidery that curled along the hems like the swirl of a rising gale. The stitching wasn’t just decorative; it marked their bond to the storm-beasts, the creatures many of them trained with. Sleeveless and reinforced at the shoulders, the uniforms were made for combat—every detail designed to move with the body, to endure the rhythm of battle.

  Beneath their sleek tunics, the students’ trousers clung closely to their legs—jet black and made of a material as silent as it was strong. Designed for agility and stealth, the fabric flexed with every movement, allowing them to dart and dodge like the very beasts they studied. Along the shins and knees, strips of dark leather were woven in, offering extra protection and durability. The design was more than practical—it was symbolic, echoing the wildness of the creatures they sought to master. It was a quiet nod to the untamed power they walked beside.

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  Their boots, rising to just below the knee, were thick and durable—crafted from the hide of beasts once conquered by Wolfstone's earliest tamers. Though sturdy, they made no sound against the stone of the training grounds. Every step was ghost-like, as if the boots had been made not for walking but for gliding through shadow. In battle or in the wild, these students were meant to move unseen.

  But the cloaks—they were the true signature of a Wolfstone tamer.

  Draped over their shoulders, the cloaks shimmered in the golden light like liquid moonlight, ever-shifting between deep blues and soft silvers depending on how the sun touched them. The fabric moved like mist, blending into the scenery as if the very air welcomed it. At the base of each hood was a crescent-shaped clasp, carved from ancient, polished bone. It felt cool to the touch, unnaturally so, humming faintly with old magic. Legend claimed it came from a fallen wolf spirit—the first guardian of the school—and now, it marked those who wore it as bonded tamers.

  Embroidered across the back of each cloak in bright, careful stitching was the image of the beast each student had bonded with. Some bore the wings of hawks, others the sinewy forms of great cats or storm-scaled serpents. These embroidered beasts stood out against the dark cloth like a badge of honor—a living reminder of what each tamer had given themselves to.

  Their gloves told the rest of the story. Worn and darkened with age and effort, they fit snugly around their hands, every seam etched with the paw print of their bonded creature. Not just a symbol—it was a binding. A pledge. These weren’t hands trained only for battle. They were hands meant to connect, to guide, to understand. The gloves bore the quiet weight of that responsibility, like a second skin woven from discipline and loyalty.

  Eira's duel with Master Kjell Rolf was more than a mere test of skill—it was a profound rite of passage, a silent vow to the phoenix spirit she had tamed. As she stood before him, sword at her side, she performed the sacred gesture: hands raised, palms downward, fingers spread wide, forming a loose triangle at chest height. This symbolic pose mirrored the unfurling wings of a phoenix, embodying her promise to honor the creature she had bonded with.?

  The Wolfstone School of Combat, nestled in Krystalforge City, was renowned for its rigorous training and unique curriculum. It attracted students from Umbralyn village and nearby towns, eager to master the art of taming legendary beasts, particularly the elusive phoenix. The academy's selective admission process ensured that only those with an innate connection to creatures could enter.?

  However, the academy imposed a strict rule: after ten years of training, students had to sever their bond with their phoenixes or face dire consequences. This policy was rooted in the belief that prolonged connections could lead to uncontrollable power, endangering both the tamer and the beast. Once the bond was broken, students lost their ability to control the creatures, relinquishing the unique power they had spent years cultivating.?

  The students' uniforms reflected their deep connection to the beasts they tamed. Their tunics were deep storm-gray, sleek and form-fitting, adorned with intricate silver stitching resembling swirling winds. The sleeveless design allowed for ease of movement, with reinforced seams at the shoulders. Black trousers, flexible and toughened with strips of dark leather along the shins and knees, complemented the attire. Knee-high boots, crafted from the hides of beasts once tamed by the school, were soundless, designed to blend them into the world around them.?

  Draped over their shoulders were cloaks that shimmered with an otherworldly glow, shifting between deep midnight blues and ethereal silvers. The fabric seemed alive, blending into the misty landscape of the academy. Each cloak bore a crescent-shaped clasp of polished bone, said to have once belonged to a wolf spirit of legend, symbolizing their unity with the beasts. Embroidered on the back of each cloak was the image of the beast they tamed, a reminder of the creature that connected them all.?

  Over their hearts, students wore a small metal badge of their beast, forged from a unique metal known only to the school. This badge glowed faintly, pulsing with a soft golden light. The glow faded over the years as the bond with the phoenix weakened, dimming until, after ten years, the bond was severed completely. The badge served as a constant reminder of the price that came with their training: a gift that, once given, would be taken away.?

  Her arms looked calm and elegant, but they showed how much respect she felt as she leaned forward, keeping her back straight. She didn’t look at her master—instead, her eyes focused on the invisible phoenix between them, its fiery wings wrapping around her heart.

  As she bowed deeply, her head lowered just a bit, showing how deeply she respected the moment. Her arms stayed outstretched, palms facing the ground, as if she was offering her soul to the flame. Every part of her movement was slow and careful, showing how much the bond with the phoenix meant to her—a powerful creature whose spirit still burned inside her.

  For a few seconds, Eira stayed in that position. The silence felt heavy. Then, with quiet strength, she stood back up. Her hands came together at her chest in a triangle, then gently lowered to her sides. She raised her head and met her master’s eyes, showing the same deep respect she had shown the phoenix.

  The Phoenix Bow was complete. It was a simple movement, but it carried a lifetime of training, sacrifice, and the strong bond between a tamer and their beast.

  Vidar clapped his hands loudly. “I always thought the master would win.”

  “Well done, Eira,” Kjell said with a smile.

  Then he turned to Thrain and H?er, bowing to each of them. When he saw them, he lowered his sword. After a few seconds, the sword changed shape into a fan, known as the Fan of Six Needles.

  “We found him, Master Kjell,” Thrain said.

  “Where is he?” Kjell asked as they all walked together. The five of them moved down a forest path toward a nearby inn.

  “His shop is right next to Physician Thorik’s,” Thrain explained. “That’s where he was last seen.” Master Kjell had come to the village of Umbralyn to investigate something and had asked the Wolfstone School of Combat for help. Thrain and H?er were sent to gather information. After searching, they found out that a man had been selling herbs to Thorik the herbalist. Thrain and H?er had tried to approach him, but he was already gone.

  “Who were they? Where did they come from?” Vidar asked, confused.

  “It was dark, so we couldn’t see clearly,” H?er replied, trying to calm him. He didn’t realize that they were now surrounded by many hidden groups who had attacked all at once.

  “Who could it be?” Vidar asked again.

  “Jiangshi,” Eira said softly, almost in a whisper.