45th of Season of Fire, 58th year of the 32nd cycle

  Elder Longfang observed the field he had arranged. It housed a glorious spell formation, one which helped him recover his confidence after failing to break the privacy spell formation the sect’s guest had used some moons ago.

  Losing to a third realm grandmaster scribe hurt, but it was an important lesson as well. Ingeniously used lower realm tools could thwart even considerably higher realm efforts. He had known that. It was the basic premise of spell formations and the art of scribing, but it had been a long time since he was on the receiving end of his beloved art’s adage.

  The spell formation which lay before him was nominally of a seventh realm, the highest he could set up perfectly. But the nodes of the formation housed cultivators at the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth realms, with a tenth realm grandmaster at the center.

  Elder Longfang did a final pass, checking whether everything was in order. Noon was still hours away, and he had enough time to make the final tweaks. None were needed, of course. He made sure of that yesterday evening, and the week before, and the week before that.

  You can never be too sure. He smirked, especially satisfied with the runic formation he had made to divert a portion of the sun’s flame. Alchemists, smiths, and artificers could find a dozen uses for the stored energy.

  Even Elder Longfang himself could use such a precious flame as a heart of a spell formation.

  The man looked at the sun, rising towards its peak, then at the gathered elders, arrayed to trap the sunflame into vessels rather than just unleash it as mere fire.

  The key figure was also there, seated and cultivating, ready for what heavens had in store for him.

  Elder Longfang did not know how to feel about that, but it was all for the good of the sect.

  ***

  Newt was uneasy. His heart quivered with terror ever since the first day of the season of fire. He knew it in his bones, the sun would smite him again.

  Then, one moon before the summer solstice, his master summoned him for a talk and a great weight fell off his chest. The sect had a plan. Just in case, they would handle everything as if sunfire would strike, and if it failed to meet their expectations, no harm done.

  Newt knew the flare was imminent, and he was grateful for the support, focusing on cultivation. When the day of the solstice came, everything was ready. He looked at the spell formation. It was too complex for him to follow, but the bits and pieces he understood filled him with confidence.

  He entered the heart and sat. He wanted to cultivate, but his focus wandered, and his state of mind was poor for most activities. Someone to talk to would have been nice, but with the sect master sitting like a statue next to him, there was no chance of a casual chat.

  So, he closed his eyes, focused on his breathing, and cleared his thoughts.

  Then the heat came. It was unpleasant for a dozen moments, then he was in an endless domain of ice-capped mountains and frozen forests.

  Before him floated an avian. It was normal sized, to his eye, but what was left of his mind told him the creature was titanic.

  “Let’s settle this once and for all, Frozen Nuts.”

  The pterosaurs screeched, which Newt interpreted as a snort. “Where does your confidence come from, Fake Snake?”

  In the distance, the pterosaur’s minions observed, spiritual energy flaring around them. Fools. They believed their flimsy shields could protect them from the fallout, should the two masters move their battle towards them.

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  The scene was strange. Newt could feel something wrong. The pterosaur was his enemy and his friend at the same time, a rival he had known for countless ages.

  Newt looked at the majestic manifestation of frost and air before him, his exact opposite.

  “I’m confident because,” he smirked, his lips moving to follow the memory, “you have cold feet.”

  With another screech, the avian tore towards him, and Newt roared in laughter. Fire clashed with ice, melting and destroying, but dying to do so. Hellish winds impossibly fast and nearly solid struck rock, countless centuries of eolian erosion occurring in a heartbeat. Air devoured the earth, but disappeared in turn as claws and tails and fang clashed.

  Terrain changed, mountains disappeared and lakes replaced them, Newt knew he was not going all out, but neither was the pterosaur. The blows did, however, grow stronger with time. Blast-waves of heat and cold spread in every direction, heavens wept, then rained snow on the land, but the snow turned to steam only to become sleet full of rock-sized chunks of ice.

  Ten days later, the battle reached a crescendo. Blood burned the world, while another pool of it froze everything it touched so solid, it turned to powder. Then, as suddenly as it began, the battle ended.

  Newt glared at the avian. He wanted to tear out its cores, to feast on them, and yet, the dumb pterosaur was a valuable ally. The two of them were not the only masters of the world.

  The probing was done, their alliance sealed for another thirty thousand years.

  “I look forward to your visit, Frozen Nuts. Without the favorable terrain, I’ll devour your cores.”

  “That’s what you said sixty thousand years ago, and sixty thousand years before that!”

  The two exchanged shouts and curses, and Newt opened his eyes.

  He was in the Chamber of Healing again. The room was pitch black with a gentle, warm breeze coming in from the window. Newt glanced outside, a storm raged, but the water and the cold remained outside his temporary abode.

  Finally, he focused on the black outline sitting in the room full of spiritual energy. He stood, surprised he could, and bowed to the man.

  “Disciple Newstar greets honorable sect master.” Newt had learned about proper customs and behavior, but the sect master lacked interest in such trite matters.

  With a thought, the air turned solid around Newt and stopped his bow.

  “How are you feeling? Did you see something interesting?”

  “Answering sect master—”

  “Cut it out, we can speak normally when there’s just the two of us. Now…” The sect master left the word hanging, and Newt hurried to answer the questions.

  “I am feeling healthy and rested.” Newt hesitated, but he already owed the sect master his life twice over. “I had another vision, I fought a giant pterosaur of ice and air almost the entire length of the vision. We also exchanged words, but our battle ended in a draw.”

  Newt frowned, but the dream slipped from his grip the harder he tried to grasp it.

  “I can’t recall what we discussed while fighting.”

  The sect master nodded. “Anything you would care to say about your friend who you brought over here to write and compile a book for you on the spot?”

  Newt’s mind blanked at the tough question. Dandelion’s book was brilliant, something that he could sell to the sect to include in their library, and it would remain an often used manual for the Explorer’s Gate’s spell formation scribes for centuries and millennia to come.

  “I plan to donate his book to the Chamber of Runes once I reach the fourth realm.” Newt tried to hide his thoughts, but he knew he had failed.

  “Neither I, nor the rest of the sect, will dig into your secrets. That said, your friend managed to outperform our chief spell formation scribe, so I need your word that he isn’t a threat or a spy.”

  “Dandelion is a friend, and he said he would come to my or my sect’s aid should we face a disaster he can help with.” A spurt of inspiration struck Newt. “I also believe he might be willing to help improve our spell formations or anything else for that matter, as long as we can provide adequate payment.”

  Newt felt stupid even as the words left his mouth. What could possibly a third realm cultivator offer to a tenth realm one? Dandelion was an innovator and a genius in Newt’s eyes, but someone as old and experienced as the sect master must have seen everything there was to see under the heavens.

  The man did not ridicule him, though.

  “May I read it?”

  Newt’s first instinct was to say no. Someone as experienced as a tenth realm cultivator should see right through Dandelion’s ruse, but he had no choice but to agree.

  “You are free to refuse.” The sect master saw through Newt like he was made of glass, but the young man shook his head.

  “I haven’t studied it deeply enough myself. That will take years, but you may naturally read it the next time I enter seclusion.” Newt scanned his body again. “Which should be tomorrow I guess, or even right now if there is an available chamber.”

  “I’ll read it, if you don’t mind. I dabble in spell formations. In case you’re curious, your body is now at the peak of the fourth realm, when you ascend to the fourth, your body will reach the fifth realm. You are free to do anything you wish, just don’t miss the next trial in two moons’ time.”

  With that, the sect master disappeared, leaving Newt alone in the healing chamber.