Another winter solstice had arrived. For Flint, it marked her third year at the Celestial Sword Sect. The annual cultivation assessment with Seedling and Spark had somehow become their unspoken tradition.

Last winter solstice, Spark had finally reached Middle Initiative, the level he'd been striving for. "I've caught up with you both!" he had exclaimed, his golden eyes bright with excitement.

Seedling had just shrugged dismissively. "What if Flint reaches Late Initiative by next year?"

Though Flint's relationship with Spark had grown distant after she told him about searching for her past life's love, the three of them still maintained an unspoken understanding as friends.

Flint, Seedling, and Spark entered the Cultivation Assessment Hall together, continuing their winter solstice tradition. The morning sunlight filtered through the hall's windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Seedling stepped forward first, placing her hand on the assessment stone. A crimson light emerged from its core, accompanied by a faint orange halo - indicating her Middle Initiative level remained unchanged.

As Flint moved to take her turn, Spark raised his hand slightly. "Let me go first," he said quietly. There was an edge to his voice that betrayed his unease. Through the widening breach in her mental barrier, Flint could sense his apprehension rolling off him in waves.

She nodded and stepped back. Spark pressed his palm against the stone's smooth surface. After a moment's pause, the same dual-layered glow appeared - the deep red core wrapped in a translucent orange ring. Middle Initiative, just like Seedling.

Finally, Flint approached the stone. As her hand made contact, the stone fell silent for several heartbeats. Then, rather than the subtle orange ring her friends had manifested, a brilliant corona burst forth around the crimson core. The vivid orange light pulsed steadily, unmistakably marking her advancement to Late Initiative.

Flint remained calm, having sensed this breakthrough months ago when her control over Genesis had grown more refined. She glanced at her companions, wondering how they would react to the growing gap between their cultivation levels.

Seedling stood frozen, her mouth slightly open but no words coming out. Spark pressed his lips into a thin line, his golden eyes unreadable.

Through her damaged mental barrier, Flint could read their emotions like ripples on a calm lake - Seedling's pure astonishment, and beneath Spark's shock, a subtle current of envy.

"By the heavens, Flint!" Seedling finally burst out, her fox ears twitching with excitement. "You could actually beat Pierce in a fight now!"

"Right, and end up carrying rocks up mountains like you did," Flint replied dryly, referencing the punishment Seedling had endured after their previous confrontation with Pierce.

Seedling's eyes lit up mischievously. "No, no - you could lure him somewhere private and teach him a lesson! No one would ever know!" She bounced on her toes, clearly entertaining herself with the thought.

The words 'no one would know' made Flint's heart sink as she thought of the puppets scattered throughout the sect, their crystalline eyes watching, always watching.

"You're exceptional, Flint." Spark's voice cut through her thoughts. The words were carefully measured, genuine despite the conflicting emotions she could sense churning beneath his composed exterior.

"Thank you for the kind words, Spark," Flint replied with a faint smile, maintaining the polite distance that had settled between them.

Back in her room, Flint discovered her Mystic Terminal had run out of the Stasis natural aura needed to power its calculations. This was her first return to the sect since spending the year tending herb fields with Seedling.

After obtaining the centural process module(CPM), she had attempted countless times to crack its authentication, but without success. She had even tried the most basic approach - brute-forcing the password. But after months of failed attempts, she had given up. Following the next winter solstice, she and Seedling had returned to herb field duty to earn more Cloud Beads.

As she channeled Stasis natural aura to replenish the Mystic Terminal's power, she sent a message by jade tablet to Sage South Rain informing her of reaching Late Initiative. She could sense that her days at the Celestial Sword Sect were numbered.

"Do you have enough Cloud Beads?" Sage South Rain replied. "If not, I can provide some. You could purchase suitable Cultivation Methods or Secret Arts from the second floor of the Vault of Heaven's Wisdom for your current level."

"That won't be necessary - I have enough," Flint responded.

After a moment's pause, she added:

"Thank you."

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Flint entered a few commands into the Mystic Terminal, setting it back to its endless password search routine. She had no desire to watch its futile efforts. Though she didn't need sleep, she had grown to cherish lying in bed. She'd even purchased new bedsheets to replace the ones she'd cut up. The old, damaged sheets remained carefully stored away.

Perhaps I'll need to cut them again someday, she mused.

She didn't rise until morning, when the sounds of disciples training filtered through her window. Flint rarely attended training sessions anymore. Instead, she headed directly to the second floor of the Vault of Heaven's Wisdom.

The second floor opened into a vast space dominated by towering bookshelves. The first section held six distinct areas for each elemental type's Cultivation Methods and Secret Arts. Further back, more shelves housed techniques combining multiple elements. While Cultivation Methods taught the accumulation of natural aura, Secret Arts instructed in its practical combat applications.

Flint browsed the Shadow Secret Arts section, idly flipping through the books. Each tome revealed only partial contents, with intricate runes marking their locked pages. Full access required a puppet's authentication - a system she knew all too well now. Her fingers traced the familiar runes as she scanned the titles, wondering which secrets lay behind their mystical barriers.

As Flint set down the Shadow-focused tome, she ventured deeper into the library's maze of shelves, seeking the section where Shadow and Stasis Secret Arts intersected. Given their complementary nature in the cultivation system, techniques combining these elements were particularly potent.

Just then, a cleaning puppet glided past her, its crystalline eyes gleaming. Flint's gaze followed its path, discovering a narrow staircase tucked away in the shadows at the far end of the hall. The steps, worn smooth by centuries of use, spiraled upward to what appeared to be an attic space.

Though Flint typically preferred to avoid unnecessary complications, curiosity flickered within her. After three years at the Celestial Sword Sect, she thought she'd discovered all its hidden corners. Yet here was another secret, right above the library she'd frequented so often.

Moving with the silent grace she'd developed during her cultivation practice, she followed the puppet's ascent. Each step was carefully placed to avoid any telltale creaks that might betray her presence. The worn wooden stairs seemed to fade into darkness above, promising either answers or more mysteries.

The attic was narrow, perched beneath the slanted roof with a protective railing around its edges. The puppet approached a door deeper within the space. With a crisp click of a key, the door swung open.

In that instant, Flint's world shifted. A powerful wave of Genesis natural aura surged forth, unlike anything she'd experienced before. While she was accustomed to drawing scattered Genesis from the air, this was different. The concentrated force seemed to recognize her presence, flowing directly into her body through the rune at the nape of her neck. The stark difference in potency was staggering - this felt like centuries of accumulated Genesis, distilled and concentrated, now streaming into her core.

The puppet left the door ajar. Flint darted inside before she could second-guess herself. The puppet's warning blared with mechanical precision: "Unauthorized personnel must leave! Unauthorized personnel must leave!"

The rhythmic repetition grated against Flint's consciousness, made worse by the surge of Genesis flooding her system. Each word seemed to pierce her mind like needles. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus through the noise and the overwhelming power coursing through her body. The concentrated Genesis felt different from what she usually absorbed - more potent, more alive, making her skin prickle with restless energy that demanded release.

At the room's center stood a waist-high pedestal topped with a transparent dome. Beneath it lay a piece of obsidian about the size of two hands. Something about the stone resonated deep within Flint, stirring feelings of profound familiarity and an inexplicable sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. The grief felt ancient yet fresh, as if she were experiencing the final moments of her past life all over again. Each mechanical "Leave!" from the puppet seemed to echo with the weight of that long-ago loss.

The combination of the incessant warning, the surge of Genesis making her feel almost drunk with power, and the deep ache of recognition proved too much. Her usual careful restraint crumbled. She strode forward, reaching for the dome, only to be stopped by unfamiliar runes etched into its base. Unlike the password-protected runes in the books below, these seemed to serve a different purpose.

The runes flared red at her touch, rejecting her attempt. They appeared to be testing something about her, but what? Flint's brow furrowed as she contemplated this new mystery, the puppet's warnings still hammering at her concentration.

A memory flashed through Flint's mind - The Bamboo Sovereign bringing back a piece of obsidian, claiming it was Obsidian's remains. Could this be it? The obsidian carried such a strong Genesis natural aura! Could she be staring at her own corpse from a past life?!

The realization sent a wave of visceral horror and desperate longing through her. The puppet's voice seemed to mock her separation from this piece of herself. Without conscious thought, driven by a primal need to reclaim what was hers, she conjured a blade of Shadow energy and struck the dome.

The attack left no mark on the barrier, though it cleanly severed a puppet's arm that had reached for her. The cleaning puppet's warning continued its maddening chorus: "Unauthorized personnel must leave! Unauthorized personnel must leave!"

The rhythmic thud of mechanical footsteps echoed up the stairway - more puppets were coming. The crimson glow of their eyes painted the walls in shifting patterns of red light as their warnings overlapped in cacophony. Flint stared at the obsidian, bitter irony washing over her. She couldn't even reclaim her own remains.

She channeled her frustration and anger into action, her Shadow Blade dancing through the air in deadly arcs. The first wave of puppets to reach the attic were simple maintenance units, not designed for combat.

Shattered crystal eyes rolled across the floor, their silver connective wires still trailing from the central processing modules that glowed with a faint blue light through split puppet skulls. Wooden limbs lay scattered at Flint's feet, forming a small mountain of wooden debris.

As Flint swung at the next puppet, her Shadow Blade met unexpected resistance - an invisible barrier of natural aura. Her eyes narrowed. These must be guard puppets, far fewer in number but significantly more formidable than their maintenance counterparts.

The sound of sword cutting through air announced the arrival of several high-level cultivators, flying directly up to the attic on their spiritual swords. Flint's pupils contracted as she recognized the lead figure - Sage Mortius Crane. The memory of his false accusations in the Heaven-Piercing Grand Hall burned fresh in her mind, igniting a surge of anger within her.

Through her damaged mental barrier, she could sense his satisfaction at finding her here - like a predator that had finally cornered its prey. His thin lips curved into what might have been mistaken for a benevolent smile, but his eyes remained cold as winter frost.

Several Adept-level disciples held Flint immobile with bands of spiritual energy, rendering her powerless. She could only glare at Sage Mortius Crane, fury evident in her gaze.

Sage Mortius Crane crouched down, bringing his face level with Flint's. His eyes glittered with calculated interest as he studied her. "What did you see up here?" he asked, his voice deceptively gentle.

Flint pressed her lips together, maintaining her silence.

"If you won't speak," Sage Mortius Crane said, absently twisting the ruby ring on his left thumb, "the accusations could become quite... extensive. Are you perhaps an Abyssal Pavilion spy? Or did they hire you to steal something specific?"

Flint clenched her jaw and lowered her head, refusing to answer.

"Or could it be," he continued, his words measured and deliberate, "that Sage South Rain, being an Abyssal Pavilion agent herself, arranged your placement in the Celestial Sword Sect?"

That accusation sparked something in Flint. She couldn't let him drag Sage South Rain into this. Her mentor had done too much for her.

Flint took a deep breath, then spoke carefully: "I saw a beautiful piece of obsidian. I wanted to take it. When the cleaning puppet discovered me, I panicked and lashed out. That's my only crime."

"That stone is quite remarkable..." Sage Mortius Crane leaned down closer, his whisper meant for Flint's ears alone. His breath ghosted against her ear as he spoke.

"It has the same effect as you."

Flint's mind raced to analyze his words. The same effect? As the implications slowly surfaced, her eyes widened with horrified understanding. The ability to cleanse resentment force...

Sage Mortius Crane held his ring before her face, the ruby catching the light. "The band of this new ring? It's made from a piece of that same obsidian."

"I hear you've been searching for your past life?" His final question hung in the air, deceptively light yet loaded with menace. The words sent ice through Flint's veins, every nerve suddenly alert with tension.