The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cliff face as Spark pointed toward a cluster of delicate flowers swaying in the breeze. The blossoms, known as Moonlight's Whisper, grew in small patches along the rocky ledge, their pearl-white petals tinged with a subtle purple blush at the edges.

"There," Spark said, his golden eyes fixed on the flowers. "Those are the ones my eldest brother said would help with Flint's cultivation progress." He spoke with the composed certainty of someone repeating his elder brother's words without quite understanding their implications.

Seedling's fox ears twitched with barely contained amusement as she edged closer to the cliff's periphery. Her white ponytail danced in the wind, and she cast a knowing glance at her friend. "Moonlight's Whisper, hmm? Your brother certainly seems... knowledgeable about these things."

A slight flush colored Spark's cheeks, though his aristocratic bearing remained intact. "Azure said they're traditional for important cultivation practices," he explained, his tone carrying all the innocence of a younger sibling trusting his elder brother's guidance.

"Of course, of course," Seedling replied, her purple eyes twinkling with mischief. She took another step backward, feeling the familiar caress of the wind against her skin. As a Wind-Charm Fox, she could sense the approaching breeze like an old friend.

"Just remember to thank me when Flint appreciates your... traditional practice." Seedling said with a playful tune.

Spark's brow furrowed slightly. "Why wouldn't she? Azure said—" He paused as Seedling let out a melodious laugh that echoed off the cliff face.

"Oh, my dear wolf prince," she said, her tail swishing with undisguised glee, "your brother has quite the sense of humor."

"Oh, but before that—" Seedling's voice trailed off as she bounded away, her white robes fluttering behind her as she searched for the perfect takeoff point. Her movements were light and purposeful, each step carrying her further from Spark's immediate view until she became little more than a distant silhouette against the

landscape.

Spark watched, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as the valley winds began to pick up. In a heartbeat, Seedling's form reappeared high above, her Celestial Sword Sect robes billowing white against the azure sky. She moved with the practiced grace of someone who had long since learned to dance with the wind, drawing closer to the delicate blooms with each passing moment. With a quick, fluid motion, she plucked a single flower from its precarious perch, before the wind carried her away along the cliff face. Moments later, she came trotting back, the Moonlight's Whisper held carefully between her fingers.

Spark examined the solitary blossom with a slight furrow in his brow. "We should gather a few more," he said, his aristocratic demeanor doing little to mask the underlying uncertainty in his voice.

"You do realize each flower grows at a different height, right?" Seedling responded, brushing a stray strand of white hair from her face. Though her words carried a note of complaint, her purple eyes sparkled with barely contained amusement. "It's not exactly a simple matter of flying up and picking them at will." She twirled the flower between her fingers, her fox tail swishing with barely contained energy. "I have to work with whatever height the wind takes me to."

Her tone was teasing rather than truly annoyed – after all, she had her own reasons for wanting to help with Spark's rather transparent attempt at gathering flowers for Flint. The obvious nature of his brother's "traditional cultivation practice" suggestion only made it all the more endearing.

The dance between wind and fox continued along the cliff face, though not every leap yielded success. Seedling bounded upward, letting the wind carry her parallel to the rocky wall. Her white robes billowed as she glided past several clusters of Moonlight's Whisper, the currents taking her too high or too low to reach them.

"Of course," she called out as the wind swept her further down the cliff face, her voice growing distant. Moments later, they could hear her footsteps approaching as she jogged back along the narrow path, her fox tail swaying with each step. "The wind decides where I go, not the other way around."

Another attempt sent her soaring along the cliff's contours, white hair streaming behind her like a banner. Her fingers grazed the edge of a flower's stem, but the distance was just a bit too great. The wind carried her away once more, and Spark watched as her figure grew smaller against the rocky backdrop before disappearing around a bend.

"You'd think," she said, slightly breathless as she trotted back, her sect robes dusty from the well-worn path, "that after all this time, I'd have better control." Despite her words, her purple eyes sparkled with the thrill of the challenge.

This time, when she leapt, the wind guided her true. Her fingers closed around a delicate stem as she glided past, and several minutes later she returned triumphantly with the fifth flower for Spark's collection. Each successful grab was preceded by three or four failed attempts, each ending with her being carried far along the cliff face before making the long trek back.

After securing the sixth flower – and at least a dozen missed attempts – Seedling approached for the final time, her usual bouncing step notably subdued. "That should be plenty," she said, brushing back a few windswept strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Her purple eyes crinkled with barely contained mirth as she regarded Spark. "Unless... you don't actually know how many you need?"

Spark maintained his princely composure, though a slight tension in his jaw betrayed his uncertainty. "This will suffice," he declared with all the authority he could muster, which only made Seedling's knowing smile widen. "We should head back."

As they began their descent, Spark's golden eyes swept across the precarious cliffsides where the flowers grew. His thoughts drifted to the stark contrast between these treacherous peaks and his homeland, where the same delicate blooms sprouted freely across the barren wasteland of the Inferno Wolves' territory. There, gathering them was as simple as taking a leisurely stroll.

"Strange," he murmured, more to himself than to Seedling, "how the same flower chooses such different homes." His fingers unconsciously adjusted their grip on the gathered blossoms, protecting them from the persistent mountain winds.

The journey back was filled with contemplative silence as Spark carefully cradled the Moonlight's Whisper flowers. His thoughts turned to the next step - crafting these delicate blooms into incense pellets. Almost instinctively, his feet carried him toward the Azure Cloud Alchemy Palace, where Asher, his fellow Outer Sect disciple, could often be found hunched over various concoctions.

Spark had always maintained an amiable relationship with his fellow disciples in the Outer Sect, perhaps because he'd learned to keep his spiritual beast features well-concealed. They treated him as simply another cultivator, not as the wolf prince he truly was.

His golden eyes drifted to Seedling, who walked ahead with an unmistakable spring in her step, her white fox tail swishing freely behind her. Unlike him, she wore her spiritual beast nature like a badge of honor - and surprisingly, many seemed drawn to her authenticity. Just the other day, a male disciple had approached Spark, seeking advice about confessing his feelings to her.

Those fools, Spark had thought then, his aristocratic features settling into a familiar mask of disdain. What spiritual beast would want to be with a human?

But now, that thought caught in his throat as Flint's image rose unbidden in his mind. He faltered mid-step, his certainty crumbling like autumn leaves. The irony hit him like a sudden strike.

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Do I... like Flint? The thought whispered through his mind, soft yet insistent. His first instinct was to deny it, to push it away with the same efficiency he applied to all emotional uncertainties. But for once, his usual analytical approach failed him - he couldn't find a single logical reason to dismiss these feelings.

Very well then, he conceded to himself, his jaw tightening slightly. If I can't deny it, let's examine it properly. His mind began categorizing the problems with his typical methodical precision.

First: She was human, and he was an Inferno Wolf. Cross-species relationships were unheard of in all his studies of cultivation history.

Second: Her spirit roots were Deficient in all six elements, requiring constant Dual Cultivation sessions where he shared his natural aura. The gap between their cultivation levels would only widen with time, their lifespans diverging like parallel paths.

Third: During their shared meals, she remained distant, barely responding to his attempts at conversation. His carefully chosen topics often met with nothing more than noncommittal hums.

Therefore, the logical conclusion is... Spark's thought process stalled, his usual decisiveness deserting him. The familiar scent of medicinal herbs wafting from the Azure Cloud Alchemy Palace interrupted his internal debate. He looked up to find himself at its entrance, where wisps of multicolored smoke curled from the windows.

Through one of them, he could see Asher's familiar silhouette bent over a cultivation furnace, completely absorbed in his alchemy work. The sight grounded Spark back in the present moment, though the unfinished analysis lingered in his mind like an unsolved puzzle.

"Seedling," Spark called out to her retreating form, his voice carrying the measured tone of nobility despite his inner turmoil. "I'm heading inside. Farewell."

Seedling turned, her white ponytail catching the late afternoon light. Her fox ears perked up as she offered a playful wave, purple eyes twinkling with that ever-present mischief. "Until next time, my brooding wolf prince," she called back, her voice carrying on the wind before she disappeared around a corner of the Azure Cloud Alchemy Palace.

Inside, Spark found Asher hunched over his alchemy furnace, his movements precise as he adjusted various medicinal ingredients. "Asher," he said softly, careful not to startle his fellow disciple, "could you craft these into incense pellets when you have a moment?" Carefully, he set the Moonlight's Whisper flowers on a workbench next to him. The alchemist nodded in approval.

Without disturbing Asher's concentration further, Spark stepped back outside, seeking solitude for his thoughts. He settled on the stone steps leading to the palace entrance, his aristocratic posture unchanged even in this informal setting. Usually, he might have stayed to exchange cultivation insights with Asher. But today, that persistent question echoed in his mind, demanding his full attention: Do I truly harbor feelings for Flint?

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard as Spark attempted to interrogate his own heart with the same precision he applied to his cultivation practices. However, his methodical analysis was suddenly interrupted by an unexpected greeting.

"Hello? Are you Spark?" The voice carried a gentle curiosity.

Looking up, Spark's golden eyes met the gaze of a stranger whose appearance immediately caught his attention. The newcomer possessed distinctive hound-like ears, a clear sign of spiritual beast lineage like himself. They were perched atop jet-black hair that shimmered with hints of purple in the fading sunlight. Most striking was the eclipse-like mark on his forehead, its outer edge gleaming with a subtle luminescence. His large, amber-gold eyes held an almost puppy-like quality that seemed at odds with his elegant bearing.

"Yes, is there something I can help you with?" Spark replied, his cultivated politeness seamlessly masking any inner reservations. Though he had only spent about a month in the Celestial Sword Sect, he had quickly adapted to maintaining cordial relationships with his fellow disciples, a habit that extended even to this unexpected encounter with another spiritual beast.

Nightbane's face brightened with a disarmingly earnest smile, revealing slightly pointed canines that caught the dying sunlight. "Ah, hello! I'm Nightbane," he introduced himself, his large amber-gold eyes reflecting an almost puppyish enthusiasm that seemed at odds with his elegant bearing. "I heard that a few days ago, you rescued a female disciple and carried her back while she was covered in blood. I was wondering how she's doing now?"

Something shifted in Spark's golden eyes – a barely perceptible narrowing that spoke of sudden vigilance. The information about Flint's rescue was incorrect, but that detail seemed far less important than the question that now burned in his mind: Why was this stranger inquiring about Flint? His aristocratic features remained perfectly composed, yet beneath that careful mask, his thoughts raced with newfound wariness.

Nightbane, still wearing his guileless expression, seemed oblivious to the subtle change in Spark's demeanor. His black hound ears twitched slightly in anticipation of a response, and the eclipse-like mark on his forehead seemed to pulse faintly with the movement of his expressions.

"She was severely injured and taken outside the Celestial Sword Sect for treatment - probably to Crimson Aurora Valley," Spark replied smoothly, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. He had chosen the location deliberately; Crimson Aurora Valley was renowned for its elixir crafting, similar to but more specialized than the work done in the Azure Cloud Alchemy Palace. The detail lent his fabrication a veneer of plausibility.

Nightbane nodded, then casually settled himself on the stone steps beside Spark, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The uninvited proximity sent a wave of distaste through Spark's body, though his aristocratic bearing remained unchanged.

"Do you know her name?" Nightbane pressed, his large amber-gold eyes still fixed on Spark with unwavering interest. Each word was accompanied by a slight tilt of his head, his jet-black hair shifting to reveal more clearly the glimpses of his hound ears.

This person... this dog is truly annoying, Spark thought, though his aristocratic features betrayed nothing of his irritation. "Her name is Flint," he answered truthfully, reasoning that denying knowledge of her name would seem suspicious given that he had supposedly carried her to safety. Besides, it wasn't exactly privileged information - Pierce had called out her name in the dining hall during his public mockery of her deficient spirit roots.

The eclipse-like mark on Nightbane's forehead seemed to shimmer faintly as he absorbed this information, his hound ears perking forward with evident interest. The innocent, almost puppyish quality of his expression remained unchanged.

Nightbane leaned forward, his amber-gold eyes bright with curiosity. "Do you know anything else about her?"

Why won't this dog just leave? The thought flashed through Spark's mind, his irritation mounting despite his carefully maintained composure. "No," he replied curtly, the lie coming easily. "I merely happened to pass by and, seeing her gravely injured, offered assistance."

Nightbane nodded slowly. He recalled only fragments of that day - the crazed cultivator exploding before Flint's eyes, and then nothing clear after that. Perhaps Spark had indeed simply been passing by, discovered her injuries, and brought her back to the sect.

"Would you like to have dinner together tonight?" Nightbane's voice carried a hopeful note. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I heard... you're also a spiritual beast."

"Though you've taken care to manifest human ears," he continued, edging closer to examine Spark's features. The wolf prince immediately recoiled, shifting his body away with precise, deliberate movement that maintained his dignified bearing even in retreat.

"Thank you for the invitation, but I have prior commitments this evening." Spark's response was swift and decisive, his tone clinging to the last threads of courtesy. The sooner he could distance himself from this peculiar hound, the better.

His golden eyes fixed on a point in the distance, a clear signal that the conversation was over, though Nightbane seemed either oblivious to or unconcerned by the dismissal.

"Well, since there's still some time before dinner, and you're waiting for someone in the Azure Cloud Alchemy Palace..." Nightbane inched closer again, his shoulder almost brushing against Spark's. "Why don't we chat for a while?"

I! DON'T! WANT! TO! Spark's internal roar contrasted sharply with his outward composure, though he allowed his features to settle into an unmistakably cold expression. Yet he remained rooted in place - he genuinely needed to wait for Asher to finish crafting those incense pellets.

"I actually joined the Celestial Sword Sect a few years before you," Nightbane continued, completely ignoring Spark's obvious displeasure. His tail swayed slightly as he spoke, each movement bringing him incrementally closer. "Back then, the sect didn't accept spiritual beasts as disciples. I could only join as a Bloodbound Beast after my master, Sage Mortius Crane, formed a Blood Contract with me." He paused, his large amber-gold eyes reflecting the dying sunlight. "Though if I were joining this year, I could have entered directly as a disciple, just like you."

Spark maintained his frigid expression, trying to mentally block out the endless chatter beside him. But Nightbane's voice continued to penetrate his attempted barrier of indifference.

"But I don't regret it at all," Nightbane's smile carried an almost childlike sincerity, his large amber-gold eyes brightening as he spoke about his master. The eclipse-like mark on his forehead seemed to shimmer with his enthusiasm. "Sage Mortius Crane is an exceptional cultivator. He's not just my master, but also my teacher. I've learned so much from him - I respect him deeply."

Will you ever stop talking? Can't you see I have zero interest in this conversation? Spark's internal frustration mounted, though his only outward response was a cold "Mm," his golden eyes deliberately fixed on the distant horizon. His aristocratic posture remained perfect even as he struggled with the urge to simply get up and leave, his fingers unconsciously tightening against the stone step beneath them.

"I heard you have a Transcendent spirit root - that's amazing!" Nightbane's tail wagged slightly with excitement as he steered the conversation toward Spark. "They say someone with a Transcendent spirit root can choose an elder directly as their Master for guidance. Who did you pick?"

Spark's distaste had reached such a peak that even this praise failed to please him. "Sage North Thunder," he replied with a sideways glance at Nightbane, his voice carrying all the warmth of a midwinter frost.

"Sage North Thunder!" Nightbane's large amber-gold eyes lit up, the eclipse-like mark on his forehead seeming to pulse with his enthusiasm. "I heard he was the one who advocated for allowing spiritual beasts to join the Celestial Sword Sect. And now in the very same year, he gets such a talented disciple - what a wonderful twist of fate!"

"Indeed," Spark responded flatly, his monosyllabic answer carrying all the engagement of a stone wall. His golden eyes remained fixed ahead, his aristocratic bearing becoming more rigid with each passing moment, as if he could somehow distance himself from this conversation through sheer posture alone.

Suddenly, Asher's voice cut through the air from behind them, emerging from the Azure Cloud Alchemy Palace.

"Spark, I wasn't sure about the dosage, so—"

Before Asher could finish his sentence, Spark sprang to his feet with unprecedented swiftness. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Asher's arm and practically dragged him in the direction of the dining hall, not sparing even a farewell glance at Nightbane.

Behind them, Nightbane cheerfully waved goodbye to their retreating figures, his large amber-gold eyes following their hasty departure.

"So I... turned them... into... one large... pill," Asher managed to gasp out between breaths as they ran, finally completing his interrupted explanation.

When they finally came to a stop, Asher bent over slightly, catching his breath. "Why did we suddenly start running?" he asked, bewilderment clear in his voice as he straightened up.

"There was an extremely annoying dog," Spark replied through gritted teeth, taking deep breaths as if trying to exhale his accumulated irritation. His usually perfect composure showed hairline cracks, his golden eyes still carrying traces of the frustration he'd been suppressing throughout the entire conversation.

He ran his fingers through his slightly disheveled hair, attempting to restore his aristocratic appearance. The abrupt dash was not very princely, but at that moment, he'd found it preferable to enduring another second of Nightbane's earnest attempts at friendship.