After a month confined to the infirmary, Kage's wounds had finally sealed. The flesh had knit, the bones had set, and now the Triumvirate demanded his presence.

He moved through the infirmary's pale corridors, hands clasped behind the black coat that draped over his casual shirt and dark pants. Silence walked with him like a second shadow.

Lian Feng matched his pace. Kage's expression remained carved in stone—cold, sharp, unyielding.

"Are you certain you're fully healed?"

Kage's tongue clicked against his teeth.

The past week had been relentless. Talia had bombarded his room with metal sheets and crystals she claimed to have "picked especially for him." Lian Feng, Kaito, Haru—all four wouldn't cease their visits. And it was Haru who'd somehow alerted the instructors, those who'd rushed in to drag them all from the examination grounds.

He'd also heard about the girl who fled—Isolder Ravencrest, from some Weaver House in Tianlong. Somehow, she'd scraped enough points for admission.

The other injured students had been sent home for proper healing while the Triumvirate meticulously calculated scores like merchants weighing jade. And now Kage faced his hearing—the final piece of his examination, the questioning about the Impure that had nearly butchered them all.

He ignored Lian Feng's hovering concern and continued forward, posture rigid as forged iron.

Then, without shifting his gaze: "What did they ask you about the Impure?"

Lian Feng shrugged. "Standard interrogation. When we discovered it, what actions we took, how—" He paused. "Beyond that, they asked for our riddle answers and graded our conduct during the examination."

Haru's voice cut in from behind. "Results aren't out yet, though. Everyone's still crammed in some temporary inn in Shenlonford. No proper entry granted—except for those who lost their tags. They were shipped home immediately."

Haru grinned at Kage, eyes glinting. "My theory? They've been waiting for you."

He laughed, taking wide strides behind Kage. "Consider it! The Academy suspended entrance results for an entire month because of a single student. Unprecedented in six centuries of history! And what the heavens—why didn't you mention you were from the Ironstorm clan?"

Kaito, walking beside Haru, glanced at Kage, watching for cracks in the ice.

Kage's shoulder lifted in the barest shrug. "What's there to tell? I don't need different treatment because of bloodline. Besides—" His voice flattened. "I'm a bastard. Does it matter?"

"Hush!" Lian Feng's gaze struck like a blade. "Illegitimate. Use that word. Bastard is vulgar."

Kage looked at him as though he'd stepped in something foul. Lian Feng forced a grin, eyes clamped shut.

"Damn it, friend, you really need to fix your face. Should we have the Chirurgeon examine your facial muscles? I suspect they're fractured."

'Fuck the Heavens. What are these things doing following me?'

Kage had known this would happen—he hadn't been cold enough, hadn't severed the threads when they first reached for him. But perhaps that was acceptable. The more people who orbited him, the more tools at his disposal when the time came. Lian Feng and Talia held value. Kaito and Haru? Less certain.

Kage stopped. Turned.

"There's something I need to understand."

Kaito flinched as those cold eyes settled on him like a blade's edge finding skin.

"Uh? What?" He shivered.

Haru glanced between them.

Kage raised one finger, aimed it at Kaito's face like a weapon. "The validation you seek—you won't find it here." His voice cut clean and precise. "You shouldn't be trailing me. You're a coward. Potential, yes. But foolish. Frightened to your core."

His gaze sharpened, honed to a killing edge. "Unless you truly wish to die, stop following me. Get out of my sight."

The air crystallized. Cold seeped into the corridor stones.

Lian Feng swallowed, the urge to speak dying in his throat. The look in Kage's eyes held something beyond cruelty—it held inevitability.

Kaito said nothing. His head lowered, shoulders curving inward. For a moment, he stood there, trembling like a blade ready to snap. Then he wiped his sleeve across his eyes, cupped his hands in a formal bow, and walked past them without a word.

Haru ran after him, then wheeled back to glare at Kage with pure hatred burning in his eyes.

Kage and Lian Feng continued walking, silent for a while. Then Lian Feng hesitantly asked.

"Why?"

"It's not your business."

"I figured you'd say that, whatever it was… you were too harsh."

"It's not your business."

Here's the revised scene with Lyra as the guide:

---

Lian Feng sighed as they fully walked out of the College of Healing Arts and onto the wide, open grounds of the academy.

A figure waited at the edge of The Spine—the main pathway cutting straight up Mount Harmony's slope. Platinum blonde hair with seafoam green streaks caught the morning light, making it shimmer. She wore a flowing cream dress with a pale blue scarf draped over her shoulders, looking like she'd stepped out of a painting.

Kage and Lian Feng came to a stop as they reached the edge of the Spine.

The girl turned, amber eyes settling on Kage. Her smile was warm, practiced. Comforting.

"Kage Ironstorm? Lyra Everwind. Year 3" Her voice was soft, melodic. The kind that made people instinctively relax. "I'm to escort you to the summit. The Triumvirate is waiting."

Kage studied her for a moment. Young—maybe eighteen. Soft features, delicate build. The kind of person people would tell to stay back during a fight.

But her shoulders were square. And there was something in the way she stood—not behind, but ready to move forward.

He nodded once.

Lian Feng clapped Kage on the shoulder. "Don't collapse on the stairs. It'd be embarrassing." He shot Lyra a grateful look, then hurried off toward the lower academic buildings.

Lyra gestured to The Spine. "This way."

They walked in silence.

The path stretched before them like a white stone river flowing upward, jade markers embedded every hundred paces. Students flowed around them—most heading down toward breakfast, a few climbing toward early classes.

Lyra's pace was steady, unhurried. Her dress flowed as she walked, making her movement seem almost weightless. But Kage noticed her steps were deliberate, measured. Not the floating gait of someone fragile, but someone who'd practiced moving efficiently.

They passed the Courtyard of Seven Winds. The Harmony Fountain stood in its center—seven warriors carved from jade, standing back-to-back. Cherry blossoms drifted across the stone plaza.

"That fountain," Lyra said quietly, not looking at him. "Students say if you stand in its center at midnight, you can hear the Seven Heroes' last words." She paused. "No one's actually tried. The Night Watch patrols too thoroughly."

Kage said nothing. Just filed the information away.

They climbed higher. The Grand Arena appeared below them, empty in the morning light.

"You'll fight there eventually," Lyra continued, her tone still gentle but matter-of-fact. "Everyone does, regardless of tier. Combat evaluations are mandatory."

Still Kage remained silent.

At four hundred feet, they reached The Scholar's Bridge—an elevated walkway suspended on chains. Lyra crossed without hesitation, not gripping the railing despite the sway.

Kage noticed. Of course, she was a third year, which meant she had gotten used to this environment for the past two years at least. But still, her movement was in stark contrast with the jade beauty that she appeared to be.

The path narrowed into stairs. Other students thinned out.

"Most students don't climb this high often," Lyra explained. Her breathing remained even despite the incline. "The upper levels are reserved for advanced facilities and... official matters."

At eight hundred feet, they passed the Archive. Scholar-Monks swept the entrance.

"Five hundred thousand texts," Lyra said. "I've read maybe two hundred." She touched her blue scarf absently. "The medical archives are on the third floor. Anatomy, herbology, poison treatises. Some are... detailed."

The way she said "detailed" held weight. Like she'd seen those details firsthand.

They climbed in silence for a while. Kage's legs burned—he had just healed, and yet he feared that he might be on the verge of breaking again—but his pace never wavered.

Lyra glanced back once, amber eyes assessing. Then continued without comment.

At twelve hundred feet, floating platforms appeared on both sides—The Floating Gardens, suspended on massive chains.

"Year 4 and 5 students meditate there," Lyra said. "Technically not forbidden for lower years, but..." She smiled that gentle smile. "Social hierarchy."

They reached The Bridge of Contemplation—narrower, swaying more noticeably over the mist-shrouded drop.

Lyra stepped onto it without breaking stride.

Kage followed. The bridge groaned, swaying left. He didn't grip the railing either.

Halfway across, Lyra spoke again. "I heard you were gravely injured, and were in the infirmary for a month. Your leg must be burning."

"They'll endure."

"Stubbornness or discipline?"

"Does it matter?"

She glanced back, and for just a moment, her smile shifted—became something more genuine. "No. I suppose it doesn't."

At fourteen hundred feet, the Hall of Bonding appeared. The circular building sat surrounded by standing stones, its dome roof throwing rainbow light across the ground.

Lyra's pace slowed slightly as they passed.

The temperature dropped. Something vibrated underfoot—faint, like a heartbeat from deep underground.

Kage felt his steps slow involuntarily.

"Everyone feels it their first time," Lyra said quietly. Her hand touched her scarf. "Some say it's the sealed chamber beneath. Others say the mountain itself is alive." She paused. "I think it's both."

They kept walking.

The path transformed into stairs—The Thousand Steps. A jade marker at the base read: 1000.

Lyra stopped and turned to face him fully. "This is the final ascent. The spiritual pressure increases with every step. Some Year 3 students still can't make it all the way up." Her amber eyes held his. "You've been bedridden for a month. If you need to rest—"

"I don't."

She studied him for a long moment. Then that flicker again—something behind the gentle mask. Approval, maybe. Or recognition.

"Then don't stop moving," she said. "If you sit, it's twice as hard to start again."

They climbed.

By step 500, Kage's breathing had roughened. His legs shook with each step. But his pace remained mechanical, unrelenting.

Lyra climbed ahead of him, her dress somehow not hindering her movement at all. Her breathing stayed even—practiced.

Step 700. The spiritual pressure hit—an invisible weight pressing against his chest, his shoulders. Testing him.

Lyra glanced back. "That's the mountain judging you. Testing your resolve." She turned forward again. "It judges everyone. Even those who've climbed a hundred times."

Kage pushed through it, jaw clenched.

Step 800. Students sat defeated on the steps below. A Year 3 girl at step 850, head in hands. Two more at step 780.

Lyra passed them without slowing. No words of comfort, no gentle reassurance. Just steady forward movement.

Kage understood—kindness here would be cruelty. The mountain demanded you finish or quit. Nothing in between.

Step 900. His vision tunneled. Blood roared in his ears. Each step felt like climbing through water.

Lyra was still ahead, her platinum hair catching the light through the mist. Not even breathing hard.

She'd done this many times. But she wasn't showing off—just maintaining her pace, letting him keep his own.

Step 950. The Gate of Seven Bridges appeared through the clouds—massive jade archway gleaming in sunlight.

"Two hundred more," Lyra called back. Not encouragement. Just information.

Step 990. Almost there.

Lyra reached the summit first and stopped, turning to watch him climb the final steps.

Step 1000.

Kage reached the landing. His legs trembled. Sweat soaked through his shirt. But his face remained stone.

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