The days dragged on with the five insubordinate officers facing harsher reprimands. They were assigned the most degrading tasks—latrine duty being their main punishment. Their groans and grumbles often drifted through the camp. Meanwhile, we made steady progress, passing through a few small, sleepy towns along the way. Most of them were unremarkable clusters of modest homes, small markets, and occasionally a temple or shrine, their inhabitants wary of our passing yet quick to offer polite nods.

Now, we stood less than two miles from our destination, Grand Sasebella. Finally, something to break the monotony of this tiresome journey.

The trip had been, if I’m honest, dreadfully boring. Each day blurred into the next—marching by day, sleeping in tents by night. Even the luxurious tents provided for the officers offered little comfort. Their soft bedding and decorative rugs couldn’t disguise the fact that we were still far from comfort. I just got used to luxury, and for it to be taken away...

As we crested the final hill, the sight of Grand Sasebella stole my breath for a moment. The city sprawled out before us, a marvel of structure and organization. From this vantage point, I could see that the city was constructed in a series of concentric rings, each with its own distinct character. The outermost ring was a patchwork of fertile farmland, golden fields swaying in the breeze and neat rows of crops stretching as far as the eye could see. Interspersed were pens and pastures filled with livestock—cattle, sheep, and even some exotic beasts I didn’t recognize. Strong soldiers patrolled this area, their faces serious as they moved with purpose. Some carried long spears, while others managed ledgers or engaged in conversations with farmers. I noted that taxes were being collected.

Beyond the farmland, the second ring bustled with energy. It was a hive of activity even from a distance. There were clusters of small one-story buildings that looked to be shops, cafes, and bustling workshops. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint hum of life—a murmur of conversation, the clanging of metal, and the creak of carts—reached even us. Narrow cobblestone streets twisted through the area, and I could just make out figures moving about, haggling or carrying goods.

The third and innermost ring loomed just beyond. From here, I could only catch glimpses, but I imagined it was filled with tightly packed apartments, finer homes, and likely the wealthier merchants or minor officials.

Caleb leaned back slightly in his seat, his piercing gaze fixed on me. “We’re almost there. You remember what I told you?”

I exhaled slowly, trying to push the weight of anticipation from my shoulders. “Yes, I remember.”

He nodded, his usual sternness softening for just a moment. “Good. Your image as a Flame now is going to be made or broken through your actions in the city. If you laze about and don’t pull your weight, you’ll be demoted. And trust me—once that happens, you’ll never have the chance to be a Flame again. But if you work hard, if you help our citizens, they’ll respect you, and they’ll help you in return.”

His words weren’t new, but they needed to repeated.

The carriage came to a slow halt, the creaking of its wheels replaced by the muffled hum of voices outside. Caleb pushed the door open, stepping out with practiced grace, his boots landing firmly on the ground. I followed, more hesitant. My boots hit the road, but my body froze as I took in the sight before me.

A crowd, massive and lively, stretched along the concrete road for what felt like an eternity. I quickly estimated it to be at least a mile and a half long. The sheer number of people was overwhelming. They stood shoulder to shoulder, shouting, laughing, and whispering amongst themselves. All eyes, however, were on us. This was no ordinary crowd. This was a ritual, an ancient tradition among the citizens of Grand Sasebella, welcoming new Flames. Or perhaps testing them.

I stood still, arms at my sides, the weight of my new role pressing down on me. Beside me, Caleb seemed unaffected, his face set in a mask of indifference. He wasn’t concerned—he’d been through this before.

The citizens began their part of the ritual. Objects flew through the air—flowers, fruits, coins, even handfuls of dirt. Anything they could get their hands on. Their aim varied; some threw halfheartedly, while others hurled with precise force. The intention was clear: to test the temperament and personality of the new Flame. How I responded to this barrage would define me in their eyes. Caleb strode forward without a second glance, ignoring everything as if the crowd didn’t exist. He was a stone in a rushing river, untouched by the chaos around him. His approach screamed discipline and focus.

I remembered the stories Caleb had shared about others who’d taken this same walk. Each Flame had handled the trial in their own way, their choices becoming part of their legend.

Lilith, the witch, used her boytoys as human shields, letting them absorb the brunt of the objects thrown her way. A performance, no doubt, but one that left a strong impression on the people. Kaiguro, with his monstrous strength, had chosen an entirely different method. He strode forward confidently, swiping everything away with his powerful right hand, as if the objects were mere annoyances beneath his notice. Alexander, sharp and deadly as his blade, had used his sword to slice through anything that came his way, showcasing his mastery with every step. The citizens had roared their approval at his precision.

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Then there was Finn, the 'fast' one. Hands buried deep in his pockets, he weaved effortlessly through the onslaught, dodging everything without breaking his casual demeanor. His aloofness had made him both admired and mysterious.

And now it was my turn. What would I do?

Caleb’s voice boomed. “Let the ritual of the Burning Mile begin!”

The roar of the citizens grew deafening. They surged with energy, eager to see how I would handle the trial. My heartbeat quickened, but I forced myself to focus.

Of course, I was going to use Piercing Hand.

I planted my first foot forward, my body loose yet deliberate, and let my arms fly. They swayed and cracked like whips through the air, spinning with deadly force. The citizens wasted no time. Rocks flew at me from every direction—small, sharp projectiles meant to test my resolve. As soon as they entered the maelstrom created by my technique, they disintegrated into harmless dust, scattering in the wind like sand. The crowd’s frustrated shouts and murmurs grew louder. They weren’t used to this. With each step, I gained momentum, my arms twisting and turning, a constant blur of motion.

Then, I altered my stance slightly, feeling the weight shift in my movements. I let one arm swing backward, allowing it to cover my blind spot. It was a variation of the Mingling Cuts technique I’d been perfecting—a new move I called Mingling Barrier. The backward sweep created a protective shield of force behind me as well. I was covered from all directions.

More rocks sailed through the air, some faster, some heavier, but it didn’t matter. My movements adapted, the technique flowing. My pace continued.

The citizens yelled in frustration, their tactics growing more desperate. But I didn’t falter. Slowly, step by step, I moved forward, inching closer to the open gates of Grand Sasebella. A few hundred meters remained. Victory was within sight. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a massive figure pushing his way to the front of the crowd. The sea of citizens parted as a hulking man, broad-shouldered and towering over everyone, came into view. He carried a massive boulder in his hands, veins bulging in his arms from the sheer weight of it.

He grinned wickedly, shouting in a voice that rumbled like thunder, “Move, ma! I got ’im!”

The crowd cheered as he heaved the boulder upward with surprising agility for his size. The massive rock arced high into the air, its shadow blotting out the sun for a brief moment before it began its descent. This was a boulder, and it was coming down fast. I wouldn’t have time to disintegrate it fully before it reached me.

I stopped my movement and drew in a sharp breath. My legs tensed, grounding me like roots into the earth. My right fist cocked near my hip, muscles coiling like a spring. Timing was everything.

The boulder fell, faster and faster.

I punched.

The force of my strike met the boulder with a resounding crack. The rock split cleanly into two jagged halves, the pieces hurtling past me on either side. For a brief moment, my visage was obscured, hidden behind the fragments of stone. My movements resumed, seamless and precise, as if nothing had happened. The fragments of the boulder were caught in my technique, disintegrating into dust within seconds.

I made my way to the entrance of the city, my eyes scanning ahead. There it was—a white line drawn across the ground. Its stark color stood out against the worn concrete road, marking the end of the trial. I assumed it signified the boundary of the ritual.

I crossed it.

“That’s the end!” Caleb’s voice rang out behind me, sharp and clear, cutting through the lingering murmurs of the crowd.

I let my arms fall to my sides, the momentum of Piercing Hand fading into stillness. My hands were coated in rock dust, the fine gray particles clinging to my skin. I flexed my fingers, shaking off some of the residue, but the gritty texture remained.

Caleb stepped forward, his expression uncharacteristically light as he clapped a firm hand on my back. “That was good, Vellin. If you’d just sprinted to the end, or copied someone else’s method, that would’ve been lame. But no—you showed off your style. You showed those citizens why you’re a Flame.”

I nodded slightly, the weight of his praise sinking in. For Caleb, a man who rarely gave compliments, this was high regard.

What's that?

An overwhelming presence entered my range. It radiated authority, strength, and something else. Something sharper. Anger. But not just any anger—this one was directed at me. My body tensed instinctively, and I kept my head low, my gaze fixed on the ground.

“Ah, sir!” Caleb’s tone shifted immediately, becoming more formal. “Why are you out of Headquarters, Leo—”

I heard the clang of metal as he touched something—a staff, perhaps, or a ceremonial blade. The sound seemed to echo unnaturally loud in the silence that had fallen over the area. “I had to see what all the fuss was about.” Leo continued. His tone was measured, yet every word struck like a hammer. “This is the one you were talking about?”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb replied, his voice steady but deferential. “It’s Vellin. Vellin Cardaire. I can personally vouch for his loyalty. He saved me and my crew, after all.”

Leo’s presence grew heavier, the weight of his gaze alone could press me into the ground. He smiled, though the expression carried a cold edge. “How does he know Piercing Hand?”

Every word he spoke sent a shiver through me. I couldn’t explain why, but my body recoiled, as if rejecting his very existence.

Caleb cracked his neck, a small habit of his. “Zero taught it to him.” he said bluntly. “When Zero kidnapped him. Vellin hated him, ran away, and came to us.”

I could feel Leo’s eyes boring into me, dissecting every inch of who I was. Then, without warning, he stepped closer and reached out, tapping the top of my head.

“Stand upright.” he commanded.

For reasons I couldn’t fathom, my body obeyed before my mind could process it. My spine straightened, and I lifted my head, meeting his gaze for the first time. His eyes were piercing, sharp like the edge of a blade, and they seemed to see right through me.

Leo clasped my hand in a firm grip, his strength evident even in this simple gesture. “Nice to meet you, Vellin,” he said, his voice softer now, though no less imposing. “we’ll get you through your induction as a Flame over the next couple of months. You have my eternal thanks for saving Caleb.”

I managed a nod, but his presence still loomed over me like a storm cloud.

Then he asked a question, his face unreadable, his emotions hidden behind a carefully crafted mask. “After Caleb shows you around, can we spar?”