The city outside had quieted into a low, humming lull. Lanterns swayed in the warm breeze, their light dancing along the cobbled streets. Faint voices drifted from somewhere far off—laughs, the clink of bowls, the soft whinny of a restless spirit beast tethered near the stables.

But in the room, there was only the steady pulse of heat, along with a strange smell that hung in the air—similar to burnt incense and something faintly sour, like wine left open too long.

Aaryan's skin steamed in the cool night air. Shirtless, legs folded, he sat at the centre of the floor, silver Qi coiling around him—subdued, focused, and threaded with slivers of red. His arms glowed with a low, steady heat, the meridians beneath his skin lit by a controlled inner fire. The Smoulder Vein Art was slow, deliberate work—forcing fire Qi to weave through muscle and bone, igniting not with chaos but with discipline.

He exhaled.

Flames didn't leap from his fists. There were no grand sparks, no crackling surges of destruction. Just warmth. Burnt skin. And control.

When he finally opened his eyes, the world felt a little different—heavier, warmer, clearer. A satisfied smile curled at the edge of his mouth.

"I got it," he muttered to himself.

His arms were dotted with tiny blisters, red welts peeking through the sweat. His shoulder itched from where the Qi had flared too violently, and a patch near his side looked one mistake away from peeling. But Aaryan didn't wince. He touched the marks carefully, cataloguing each mistake like a blacksmith studying flawed steel.

Pain was a small price for progress.

Then he froze.

Someone was… snoring.

Aaryan's head jerked toward the bed. There—half-slumped, legs tangled in a blanket, arms spread wide like a collapsed starfish—was the old man. Soot. Fast asleep. Mouth slightly open. Drool glistening at the corner of his chin.

'What the—?!'

Aaryan blinked in disbelief. He hadn't heard the door. Hadn't sensed any presence. His own Soul Sense was active all throughout training, and yet… nothing?

Slowly, he turned to Vedik.

The silver-scaled dragonlet was perched near the window, lazily watching the moon. At Aaryan's questioning glance, Vedik shrugged—an actual shrug, claws lifting and wings twitching in confusion. His silver eyes flicked toward Soot, then back at Aaryan with a silent: Don't look at me.

Aaryan's frown deepened. Vedik's senses were sharper than his own. If even he hadn't noticed the old man arrive…

He coughed—once, twice—loud and purposeful.

Soot didn't stir.

Aaryan walked over, picked up the edge of a pillow, and gave the old man's foot a solid poke.

Still no response.

Another cough. This time louder.

Soot jerked upright with a sudden snort, arms flailing like a startled chicken. "Wha—WINE! Who—who stole my gourd?!"

He blinked, stared blearily at Aaryan.

Then grinned.

"Well, look who finally stopped burning himself alive."

Aaryan crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, one brow raised. "When did you get back?"

Soot stretched dramatically, spine cracking in several places. "Huh? Oh, sometime between the moon rising and me running out of wine. Hard to say. Time's not real once you're past sixty."

Aaryan narrowed his eyes. That… told him absolutely nothing.

But he didn't push.

Instead, Soot's gaze drifted lazily to Aaryan's arms, where the red marks still lingered in patches. "That technique you were practicing… not bad. Where'd you get it?"

"Bought it."

Soot scratched his ear. "How much?"

"Twenty thousand spirit stones."

Soot's eyes widened, then he made a noise somewhere between a cough and a bark. "TWENTY—!"

He slapped his knee, aghast. "You fool! Do you know how many years I could live off that? I could've given you something ten times better for a tenth the price!"

Aaryan stared. "So… two thousand stones for something stronger?"

"Absolutely! Full combustion, mid-range burst, optional explosion radius, minimum third-degree burns. Side effects may include spontaneous hair loss and property damage."

Vedik snorted from the side, already expecting where this was going.

Aaryan gave Soot a flat look. "And where exactly is this amazing technique?"

Soot beamed. "Well, I don't have it right now. But—if you pay two thousand spirit stones in advance, I swear on my last tooth I'll get you a technique so powerful, even Core Formation cultivators will weep at your footsteps!"

A beat of silence.

"Two days," Soot added. "Maybe fifteen. Possibly twenty-nine. But under thirty! Definitely under thirty."

Aaryan rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't pop out. Vedik let out a huffing laugh and curled into a ball, snickering quietly.

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"Of course," Aaryan muttered. "A deal that good must be limited time only."

Soot raised a finger. "Exactly! Now you're starting to understand market value."

"Right," Aaryan said dryly. "I'll pass."

Soot looked genuinely wounded. "Bah. No trust in old men these days."

Aaryan waved the topic away. "I got everything you asked for. The Coldiron shards, Refined Cloud Tin, Molten Sand blocks, the crucible, the bed—everything."

Soot sat up straighter, his lazy grin sharpening. "You did?"

Aaryan nodded and flicked his spatial ring. "All in here."

"Well then," Soot clapped his hands together. "What are we waiting for?"

He sprang to his feet with far more energy than a man his age—or his liver—should have. His robes flapped awkwardly around his thin frame as he marched toward the centre of the room and began dragging the table aside with one hand.

"Come on, come on. Spirit Weapon forging waits for no one! Fire, metal, madness—it's time to begin!"

Aaryan blinked. "Now?"

"No better time than when the moon's high and the neighbours are trying to sleep!" Soot grinned, eyes gleaming like a man ready to commit alchemical arson.

Vedik rolled over with a dramatic sigh, muttering something about poor life choices.

Aaryan stood and reached into his ring. "Fine. Let's begin."

He was just about to reach into his ring to bring out the materials when Soot cleared his throat with theatrical force.

"Refined Cloud Tin," the old man said, smacking his lips. "One piece."

Aaryan paused. "Just that? What about the Coldiron, the bark, the crucible—"

"Oi!" Soot snapped, straightening with exaggerated offense. "What's this? The disciple questioning the master? What's next, you want me to polish your boots while you're at it?"

Aaryan blinked. "I don't wear boots."

"Exactly!" Soot huffed, pointing a crooked finger. "No manners, no footwear, no respect. Truly a fine start."

Vedik chuckled from the side, tail flicking like a lazy metronome, clearly enjoying himself. Aaryan sighed in surrender and pulled out a single piece of Refined Cloud Tin. The metal had a dull sheen, like light smothered under mist. He set it on the floor in front of him.

"Now," Soot said, rubbing his hands together like a merchant ready to swindle. "Refine it with your flame."

Aaryan stared at him. "You want me to use my fire? I thought actual forging used Soul Fire… or compressed Qi fire at the very least."

Soot's eyes widened theatrically. "And did the heavens declare you a master forgersmith already? Boy, if you're so smart, why bother learning at all?"

Aaryan opened his mouth, considered arguing, then thought better of it. The last "discussion" had ended in a monologue about respect, youth these days, and something involving a donkey and molten copper.

"Fine," he muttered under his breath.

He shifted his posture and took a breath, drawing Qi from his dantian. A ripple pulsed outward as the lotus petal in the Elemental Nexus in his body stirred—deep and instinctive—and silver fire bloomed from his palm like a blooming lotus. It didn't roar, didn't surge. It burned clean and radiant, each flicker traced with hints of something ancient.

Soot's expression changed instantly.

The old man leaned forward, his lazy eye sharpening as he stared at the flame. Then his gaze drifted sideways—toward Vedik. The dragonling had his head tilted as if watching something curious.

"Well, well," Soot muttered, scratching his stubbled chin. "Dragonling and essence flame. You're full of surprises, boy."

Aaryan blinked. "Wait, you can tell it's—"

"Focus." Soot cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Staring at me won't teach the metal how to melt."

Aaryan shut his mouth again. Soot's tone had shifted—still casual, still smug, but there was a new edge in it now. Not fear. Just curiosity sharpened into respect.

Aaryan held the flame steady and brought the piece of Cloud Tin closer.

The moment the Refined Cloud Tin touched Aaryan's flame, it hissed—and crumbled.

One second, it shimmered with its dull, misty sheen. The next, it blackened, curled in on itself, and disintegrated into brittle flakes of ash.

Aaryan stared at his palm, stunned.

"...What?"

Soot didn't even blink. "What are you looking at me for?"

Aaryan turned to him. "It—just turned to dust."

Soot let out a theatrical sigh. "And? You used an extraordinary flame with no control. What did you expect? A standing ovation from the metal?"

Aaryan's brow twitched. "You could've warned me."

"I did. I said refine it. I didn't say incinerate it." Soot leaned back and crossed his arms. "Every metal's different. Cloud Tin's delicate. Heat it too fast, it resists. Push harder, it dies. You've got to coax it. Especially with a flame like yours."

Aaryan grumbled under his breath, but didn't argue. This time, he quietly reached into his ring and drew out another piece of Cloud Tin. It gleamed dully in the dim light, unaware of its impending trial.

With a breath, Aaryan summoned his flame again—but tempered it this time. He willed the temperature lower, suppressing the natural surge of his affinity. The silver fire dimmed slightly, its intensity folding inward, condensing into a more controlled form.

As the metal approached his palm, the flame reacted—not with fury, but grace. It curled around the tin in a slow, steady embrace, flickering softly as it tested the resistance of the metal.

No sudden flare. No smoke. Just a gradual brightening of the metal's surface, and faint, almost imperceptible wisps of vapor lifting into the air.

The process was slow.

Delicate.

Painfully deliberate.

"This… is harder than it looks," Aaryan muttered.

"Of course it is," came Soot's voice, already half-distracted. He was now sitting with Vedik by the window, staring out as if the night held answers to better questions. "It's a Spirit Metal. Has character. Has pride. You can't just blast it with fire and expect results. Listen to it. Feel it. It'll tell you how it wants to be handled."

Aaryan resisted the urge to respond with sarcasm. He focused instead, trying to do exactly that—listen. His senses sharpened, every flicker of resistance from the metal met with a gentle shift in flame.

But then—just when it seemed he'd found the balance—the metal began to blacken again. Alarmed, he lowered the flame further.

Too far.

The refining stalled, the vapor trails fading, the glow gone flat.

He gritted his teeth. Again, ash. Again, failure.

Soot didn't even glance over. Vedik gave a soft snore.

He tried again. And again. Four times. Ten times. All failures. Each ended the same—curling up and turning to ash in his palm, as if mocking his attempts.

He eventually stopped, let the fire vanish, and stared at the final unburnt piece lying in front of him.

"He said listen… but how?"

It wasn't as if the metal whispered in words. It didn't scream when overheated or cheer when refined properly. No matter how much he stared at it, it looked the same. Just a lump of dull grey tin.

And then… something clicked.

He wasn't listening with the right sense.

Flame was only part of the process. The other… was presence.

Aaryan's eyes narrowed slightly. He drew a long breath, reached into his core again, and summoned the silver fire—but this time, as it bloomed, he extended a thin thread of his soul sense, wrapping it gently around the Cloud Tin even as the flame touched it.

At first, nothing changed. Then, faintly, he felt it.

A kind of… resistance. Not physical, not audible. Just a low, stubborn pushback. As though the metal were enduring something it didn't trust yet.

Aaryan adjusted his flame, just slightly. Pushed heat into its core, not its surface. The resistance dulled. Faint trails of vapor rose once more, curling upward like morning mist.

Minutes passed.

He adjusted his Qi circulation, pulsed more heat through his palm, eased back when the metal threatened to resist.

Sweat dripped down his brow. His hand trembled from the effort of balancing fire and soul sense. But gradually—ever so slowly—the metal softened. Its dull surface grew more lustrous, a soft white glow blooming from within.

This wasn't brute force. This wasn't rote technique.

It was connection.

The metal's resistance thinned—like tension loosening in a clenched jaw.

At last, the Cloud Tin began to refine.

Soot finally looked away from the window, his eyes settling on the boy and the metal. The flicker of surprise in his gaze was quickly masked with his usual aloof calm.

"You'll get it," he said. "One metal at a time."

Vedik gave a small grunt of approval, silver scales catching the moonlight.

Aaryan didn't speak. He didn't need to.

The smile on his face—faint, tired, and real—said enough.

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