The second round was over.
Zeravon stepped down from the stage, his shoulder aching from the earlier blow, but his expression was calm — as if the pain didn't belong to him. He passed through the crowd like a ghost, eyes low, body steady, thoughts clouded.
> *"I hesitated again…"*
Not because of fear. Not because he was incapable.
But because something within him kept whispering:
> *"Not yet."*
---
**Outer Quarters — That Night**
The stars above Cloud Vein Sect glimmered faintly, but to Zeravon, they seemed more distant than ever. He sat beneath the same tree, hands resting on his knees, watching the moon rise.
Other disciples joked and sparred nearby, celebrating their small victories or lamenting their failures. Some even boasted about who they'd face in the next round.
Zeravon remained silent.
He looked at his own palm again. It no longer trembled. But neither did it answer.
> *"Why do I still feel like something is missing?"*
---
**Elsewhere — Deep in the Inner Sect**
A hidden stone hall, veiled by illusion and guarded by silence, glowed faintly as Elder Lin stood before a massive jade mirror.
The surface showed no reflection — only flickering ripples of fate.
And in one ripple… the image of Zeravon appeared.
> "He lost again," muttered a nearby cultivator.
> "Yes," Elder Lin said. "But he shouldn't have."
He tapped the jade surface. Runes crawled across it like living ink.
> "He's suppressing something. But it's not power… it's **instinct**."
> "So what do we do?"
> "We wait," Lin replied. "Something will trigger it… eventually."
---
**Next Day — Cloud Vein Sect Training Grounds**
The third round of the competition began.
Zeravon didn't expect to be called — two losses should have eliminated him. But the jade pillar shimmered once more.
> **"Zeravon vs. Han Zhiwen."**
Murmurs rose.
Han Zhiwen was not only a talented outer disciple — he was also the personal student of Instructor Wei. Known for his mastery of the \[Burning Willow Steps], he had already defeated two opponents with clean, calculated precision.
> "Zeravon's finished now."
> "He got lucky even being in round three."
Zeravon stood slowly and walked toward the stage.
This time, he didn't feel lost.
But he didn't feel ready either.
He simply… moved forward.
---
**Stage 9 — Zeravon's Third Match**
Han Zhiwen greeted him with a courteous nod. Unlike others, his gaze wasn't mocking — it was cautious.
> "I've seen your matches," he said softly. "You're not weak."
Zeravon said nothing.
> *Begin.*
Han Zhiwen didn't rush.
He moved with grace — feet sliding like wind, body flowing like fire. Each step of his technique caused a faint heatwave to ripple across the platform.
Zeravon watched — eyes focused, body still.
When the strike came — a blazing palm aimed at his chest — Zeravon sidestepped again. But this time, something clicked.
A reflex.
Not learned.
**Remembered.**
He turned his body with unnatural timing and tapped Han's wrist — soft, harmless.
But Han flinched.
His momentum twisted.
He fell to one knee.
> *"I didn't strike… but he reacted like I did…"*
The crowd went silent.
Even the instructor frowned.
Zeravon backed away.
He could have followed up.
He didn't.
And this time, Han didn't mock him. He simply stood and bowed.
> "I forfeit."
Shock rippled through the audience.
---
**Result: Zeravon — Victory**
---
**Observation Balcony**
Instructor Wei stared at the match silently.
> "That move…" he murmured. "That wasn't a counter… it was a *correction*."
Beside him, Elder Lin's eyes narrowed.
> *"He doesn't fight to win. He moves to maintain balance… even in combat."*
---
**That Night — Beneath the Tree**
Zeravon stared up at the stars again. His victory didn't feel like one.
But the whisper in his chest was quieter now — calmer.
And for the first time… he smiled.
Just slightly.
---
**Far Beyond — The Realm of Threads**
The Watcher of Ends stood in the Void Loom, where fate-threads of all beings twisted endlessly.
One thread shimmered — no longer frayed.
> "His movements… are returning."
> "He has not yet awakened," said the Silent Origin, appearing beside him.
> "No," the Watcher agreed. "But something ancient… **remembers him.**"
And far, far away, a forgotten name stirred once more…
---