Destiny Reckoning[Book 1 Complete][A Xianxia Cultivation Progression Mythical Fantasy]

The interior of the Ember Spire was nothing like Aaryan had imagined.

From the outside, the tower loomed with fire-kissed grandeur—an emblem of power and prestige. But inside, the world narrowed into ordered rings. The rooms were built in concentric circles, one nested within the next, each wrapping tighter like layers of armour around a hidden core. Light poured in from high-set windows, casting golden rays that curved with the tower's inner spine, glinting off polished stone.

The ground floor was cavernous—wide enough to hold dozens of forges and still leave room for the footsteps of apprentices and masters alike. But today, the space was quiet. Too quiet. Everyone had heard what happened at the gate.

No one dared to stop Uncle Soot as he hopped past them, nor did they speak as Aaryan followed. Only sideways glances and the low hum of forges filled the silence. Even the tower's breath—warm and iron-scented—seemed to hold back.

They ascended a spiral staircase that clung to the inner wall like a helix of stone. As they climbed higher, the atmosphere thinned—quieter, cooler, more watchful.

"The tower has ten floors," Soot muttered between wheezes, not once slowing. "Top three are off-limits to all but a few. I could take you there, of course... but that'd be poking too many sore spots."

Aaryan said nothing, letting the spiral carry them upward.

"Besides," Soot added, his voice echoing faintly against the stone, "you don't need that now. No point looking at the stars when you've yet to strike your first spark."

Aaryan nodded silently.

The fifth floor felt different. Narrower. The hum of activity below was all but gone. The rooms here were fewer—perhaps one-tenth the number on the ground floor. The walls curved tightly, like they were standing in the belly of a great beast.

Soot didn't hesitate. He led Aaryan down a hallway that curved inward with the ring of the tower, eventually stopping at a door unlike the others.

It was black—utterly black. No markings. No handle. Just a tall slab of something that drank the light.

Aaryan stepped forward and touched it.

Cool. Shockingly cool, like night air trapped in stone.

He pressed gently, and the door creaked open without resistance.

A blast of slightly hot air greeted them as the chamber came into view.

It wasn't a large room—more a sanctum than a workshop. But every inch of it breathed purpose. The air inside carried a faint hum, subtle but constant, like the slow exhale of a slumbering beast. Aaryan paused at the threshold, eyes narrowing slightly as he took it all in.

At the centre lay a single stone slab, raised just slightly above the floor. Pale runes snaked across its surface, etched with meticulous care. Between the glyphs, tiny grooves—narrow channels—had been carved, forming a delicate webwork that crisscrossed the slab like veins.

The walls glimmered faintly under the light of embedded crystals, their shine not harsh but ambient, almost reverent. Faint reflections flickered across the floor, dancing over a circular formation drawn directly into the stone—its lines converging at the central slab like everything in the room revolved around that one point.

Aaryan stepped inside. His feet made a soft tap on the stone, the sound instantly swallowed by the dense silence of the room.

He circled the slab slowly. His fingers brushed across the surface, feeling the grooves and the slight warmth radiating from within the stone. There were clear indentations—shaped precisely for the tools and instruments needed in forging. To the right, a rack stood embedded into the stone slab, its slots marked in pairs: one side for raw materials, the other for refined. Above them, a faint inscription glowed with flickering light, waiting to be awakened.

Then his gaze fell on the final detail—a rectangular slot at the front of the slab. Hand-sized. Not deep, but deliberate.

Then came a voice, casual yet commanding—Soot's grating tone, drifting lazily through the still air.

"Take out the things I asked for."

Aaryan didn't respond. He simply nodded.

With a flick of his hand, space shimmered around his palm, and two items appeared with quiet thuds onto the stone slab. The Soulfire Crucible, its metal bowl etched with flame glyphs, settled neatly into its allotted indentation. Beside it, the Essence Bed—an obsidian basin carved with channels—aligned like it had always belonged there.

The rack to the side filled next. Neatly arranged containers slid into their slots, each marked and sealed. Within them: the fruits of Aaryan's earlier work—refined Coldiron Shard, Molten Sand Block, Cloud-Tin Ingot, and Black Ash Bark stripped clean of impurities. The faint aroma of the bark teased the air, woody and bitter.

Finally, Aaryan withdrew the dagger.

The one Soot had handed him days ago. Black-handled. Its edge still held a whisper of heat when gripped.

He turned, holding it casually as his gaze drifted to Soot—only to find the old man crouched beside Vedik, muttering nonsense in a one-sided conversation with the dragonling, who nodded in noncommittal annoyance.

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Aaryan cleared his throat. Soot looked up. "What now?" he asked, blinking.

Aaryan gestured with the dagger. "You didn't say what to do next."

Soot snorted, then scratched his beard with a rusty finger. "Place the Spire Token, obviously, and start forging."

A beat passed.

Aaryan blinked. "Spire token?"

The silence that followed was somehow louder than the question.

Soot's face twitched. "Don't tell me you've been wandering around like a lost duckling this whole time, not even gathering the basics?"

He grumbled and reached into his robes, pulling out a thin red token shaped like a rectangular slip of hardened flame-glass. "Tch. Useless. Here. Use this one—for now. But next time, get your own."

Aaryan caught it with a nod. The token's surface pulsed faintly, warm to the touch. Without hesitation, he approached the front of the slab and lowered it into the hand-sized slot.

A soft click echoed as it slid into place.

Perfect fit.

As the token clicked into place with a subtle chime, the room seemed to awaken.

A low hum stirred from beneath the floor, deep and steady—like the heartbeat of something ancient. The formation encircling the slab flickered to life, thin threads of golden light tracing the grooves like veins. From the centre, a warm glow spread outward, licking the etched channels with controlled fire.

Aaryan took a slow step back, eyes narrowing in focus.

"Now feed it your Qi," Soot muttered, leaning lazily against the wall. His cane clicked against the stone. "Start with the refined elements. Fuse them first, then bind them to the blade."

Aaryan gave a small nod. He approached the inlet—a hollow pipe built seamlessly beside the token slot—and placed his hand over it.

His Qi flowed in silently.

The response was immediate.

From the ground below, fire surged—contained and elegant—rising in symmetrical curves through the rune-carved channels. It moved like a living script, converging toward the stone slab until the centre ignited with a controlled blaze. No heat radiated outward, but within that glow, there was intensity enough to bend iron.

Aaryan watched it for a few breaths, captivated by the silent rhythm of flame and formation. Then, slowly, his focus returned.

He raised a hand, and a pale-white powder—the Refined Cloud-Tin—floated into the Soulfire Crucible. The moment it touched the air above the flame, it was pulled down, swallowed whole by the fire.

Soot didn't speak. Just watched from the side, one eye narrowed.

Aaryan's brows furrowed as his soul sense coiled into the crucible, wrapping tightly around the already refined metal. The Cloud-Tin pulsed softly, its essence resisting—demanding control. Aaryan adjusted his pressure, shaping the temperature, feeling the minute shifts in intensity the fire demanded.

Moments passed.

Then, without breaking his stance, Aaryan sent another ingredient black in appearance, into the crucible. A tongue of flame quickly engulfed it, more chaotic, snapping erratically.

His soul sense split. Each portion attached to a different ingredient.

Two separate items.

Two balancing acts.

His fingers tensed slightly. A thin bead of sweat broke along his temple, but his expression stayed calm.

Focused.

Above the glowing slab, twin spheres of flame floated—same in colour but different temperament, yet held in exacting control.

Soot let out a dry snort behind him. One word followed.

"Ambitious."

The room pulsed with quiet energy, the glow of the formation casting long, wavering shadows across the curved walls. Aaryan stood still, his right hand touching the Qi inlet, while his left fist drawn tight, as if holding back something raw. Every muscle in his frame was taut, veins showing along his wrist and temple as he guided the two flaming spheres—one pale and steady, the other dark and flickering—closer inch by inch.

Sweat beaded along his brow and dripped down his chin, soaking the collar of his robe. His breaths had turned shallow, not from panic but from sheer focus. The white and black powder lumps burned within the crucible like twin stars, orbiting one another, resisting fusion.

The temperature around the slab had risen subtly. Not oppressive, but dry, heavy. The room exhaled warmth like a forge holding its breath.

Aaryan's soul sense twisted like invisible threads, attempting to weave the two materials into alignment. The closer they drew, the more volatile their flames became—edges flaring, colours bleeding into one another. For a moment, it looked as if they might stabilize. But then—

A sudden lurch.

The overlapping fires burst with a sharp crack, sputtering violently. The crucible roared with sudden intensity, light flaring against the walls. Aaryan's face twisted—not in fear, but in effort. His eyes narrowed, one knee bending slightly as if bracing against the sheer will needed to bring balance.

Still, he didn't falter.

His Qi surged again, a thin ripple of silver light along his forearm as he forced the temperature to adjust. The flames stuttered, then settled—barely. Where once there were two distinct fires, now there was one—unstable, but merged.

From across the room, Soot's chatter with Vedik paused mid-word.

The old man glanced sideways.

A rare flicker of surprise shimmered behind his half-lidded eyes.

But the test wasn't over.

Within the flame, the two materials hadn't fused. Their essence remained separate, like oil suspended in water. Aaryan steadied himself, both hands raised now, guiding the merged flame downward, pressing the ingredients together.

He reached deep—both into his Qi and his focus—his mind blanking everything else.

But then—

The temperature wavered.

The fire gave a wild twitch.

A second later, with a soft poof, the flame collapsed into smoke.

Gone.

Aaryan stepped back, chest heaving once, twice. The crucible stood empty. The fusion had failed.

Off to the side, Vedik's head tilted slightly. His tail gave a slow, deliberate flick—once—before curling back in.

Behind him, Soot exhaled through his nose.

"…Too eager," he muttered.

But the faint gleam of intrigue still lingered in his eyes.

The acrid curl of smoke drifted upward once more, vanishing into the ceiling vents like a ghost. Aaryan stood before the crucible, his expression unreadable. No frustration flared in his eyes. No anger. Just a steady breath, a slow blink, and a brief adjustment of his stance.

He wiped his hands on his robes, now damp with sweat, and rolled his shoulders. The room's heat pressed against his skin, clinging like a second layer, but he moved with the calm resolve of someone who'd accepted the cost of effort.

Again, he began.

The pale Cloud Tin entered the crucible first, swallowed in a low hush of flame. Then the Black Ash Bark followed, curling into the fire with a subtle crackle. Aaryan's soul sense spread thinner this time—more precise. He adjusted the temperature faster, navigating the heat flow through instinct and feel.

It was slightly easier now, his control smoother.

But still taxing.

Beads of sweat formed again, trickling down his temples and neck. His brow furrowed only slightly as he brought the two flames together once more.

Closer… slower…

And then—like a breath snagged mid-sentence—it collapsed again. A puff of smoke. Another failure.

He didn't pause this time. Didn't look away. Another attempt. Then another.

One try brought the flames together so tightly that the two ingredients began to glimmer in unison—only to rupture with a muted hiss at the final moment. The smell of char hung faint in the air.

Aaryan stared at the smoke.

Then at his own hands—steady, calloused, clenched.

Finally, he turned.

Soot was slumped on a nearby bench, snoring lightly with his head against the wall. One eye cracked open lazily as Aaryan approached.

"Care to explain what I'm doing wrong?" he asked, voice even.

Soot yawned.

"Thought you'd never ask."