Whispers of Revival: Threads of Fate

Navrat sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, his mind swirling with a mix of anger, sadness, and cold determination. The events of his past life weighed heavily upon him, especially the betrayal—or what seemed to be a betrayal. Even after all these years, it felt like an unhealed wound.

“Nezu wouldn’t let me die like that,” Navrat murmured, his voice low and filled with doubt. “He spent decades training me. A man like him doesn’t waste his investment. And Akansh…”

The thought of his brother brought a sharp pang of pain. Navrat closed his eyes, trying to push away the memory of the blade piercing his heart, wielded by the very person he had loved and trusted most. It didn’t make sense. Akansh had never shown greed for power or property. Even when their father had announced that Navrat would succeed him, Akansh had only smiled and voiced his support.

“Make Akansh the leader instead,” Navrat had told his father once. “I’m better suited to work in the shadows, alone.”

But the shadows betrayed him, too.

“I can’t believe it, even now,” Navrat muttered, his fingers curling into fists. “Even if Akansh and the others turned on me… Nezu wouldn’t have allowed such cheap tactics to work. He warned me to be careful before all of this happened. What did he mean? Did he plan this?”

The weight of unanswered questions threatened to drown him. His reincarnation 200 years later wasn’t some random event. It had been orchestrated, every thread pulling him back to life for reasons he couldn’t yet fathom. His gaze hardened.

“I need answers,” he whispered.

But answers could wait. Power was what he needed now, more than anything else. The battles ahead demanded strength—not just physical or spiritual, but enough to withstand the chaos to come.

Navrat's soul had reached the pinnacle of advanced transcendent, and Ruhi’s body had been tempered to match that level. He was only a step away from the intermediate immortal state, but the gap between those stages was vast. It required an immense reservoir of energy to bridge.

He considered his options. Harnessing natural energy and refining it was the slowest path, taking decades, if not centuries, and often ending in failure. Harvesting life and soul energy was faster but far more dangerous. He thought briefly of the Vermilion Heart, a fruit capable of pushing someone to immortality. The last time he’d seen it, it had been in the Xia family’s possession.

Then his thoughts turned to the tournament Dofia had mentioned. He had initially dismissed the idea of participating, not wanting to crush young talents still struggling to reach intermediate transcendent. More importantly, using his powers in public risked exposure.

And then there was the mysterious girl. The one he had sensed during his arrival in the capital. Her aura was familiar yet different—an intricate blend of power and warmth, laced with an undercurrent of cold, restrained danger..

As he sank deeper into thought, a sudden creaking sound jolted him from his musings. His focus snapped inward, toward the cocoon of radiant energy within Ruhi’s soul.

The glowing cocoon began to crack. Threads of white light unraveled and faded, revealing a figure within. Ruhi emerged, her once-fragile presence replaced by an aura of strength and confidence. Her body shimmered faintly with the residue of refined energy, her movements fluid and precise.

Navrat’s lips curled into a small smile. “So, the training paid off.”

Ruhi opened her eyes, and they sparkled with newfound clarity. She flexed her fingers, testing her body’s strength, then glanced at Navrat with a playful grin. “I feel incredible! I never imagined I could feel this strong.”

Navrat nodded. “You’ve reached advanced transcendent. With this level of power, you can now control your body even with my presence, as long as I allow it. It’s time to put that strength to the test.”

“Test?” Ruhi tilted her head, curiosity flashing in her eyes.

“You’ll participate in the tournament,” Navrat said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ruhi’s jaw dropped. “What? I just finished training! You’re asking me to fight already?”

Navrat chuckled softly. “It’s not a request, Ruhi. The tournament will be good for you. You’ll face real opponents, test your abilities, and learn how to adapt in battle.”

Ruhi groaned. “Miss Ahoshin is a tough teacher. When I was sparring with her in my consciousness, I didn’t stand a chance! She taught me all kinds of techniques and skills, but…” She hesitated, her expression softening. “She also said I have potential.”

“That potential needs sharpening,” Navrat said. “Now that your soul is strong enough, I’ve granted you access to my techniques. You can use the Origin of Destruction as well. But remember, I won’t intervene unless your life is truly at risk. This is your fight.”

Ruhi took a deep breath and nodded. “Understood.”

“Good,” Navrat said. “Tomorrow, we’ll start training in the mountains near the capital. For now, go and register for the tournament. Use the name ‘Zashia.’”

With that, Navrat closed his eyes and began to meditate, his soul entering a deep state of training.

Ruhi stood there for a moment, watching him with a mixture of awe and gratitude. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was in control of her own body. A wave of happiness washed over her as she flexed her fingers, testing her newfound strength.

She threw a few punches into the air, marveling at how much faster and stronger her movements had become. “This is… incredible,” she murmured.

Even though she now had access to Navrat’s memories, she could feel that some were deliberately hidden from her. It didn’t bother her—at least, not yet. She was too excited to care.

With a wide grin, Ruhi donned the mask Navrat had crafted for her and slipped out of the room. The city awaited her exploration, and for the first time in years, she felt truly alive.

The streets of the capital bustled with life, a vibrant tapestry of voices, scents, and flickering lights. Vendors shouted over one another, offering fragrant skewers, steaming buns, and glimmering trinkets to the crowds thronging the cobblestone roads. Despite the late hour, the city pulsed with energy, an unending river of motion and sound.

Ruhi moved through the crowd, her steps light yet deliberate. She had donned the mask Navrat had crafted for her, its intricate designs casting faint shadows across her face. The mask provided anonymity, but her heightened awareness reminded her that there was no such thing as complete invisibility.

Her newfound strength allowed her to sense the spiritual traces of those around her, faint and flickering like distant stars. Each person carried a unique presence, and while the barrage of energy signatures was overwhelming at first, she quickly learned to filter the noise. Navrat’s guidance echoed in her mind: Focus on what matters. Let the rest fade.

Eventually, she reached the tournament registration booth. A tall, stern-faced clerk sat behind a weathered desk, his sharp eyes scanning her as she approached.

“Name?” he asked, his voice clipped.

“Zashia,” Ruhi replied, her tone calm and confident.

The clerk dipped his quill into a pot of ink and began to write. “Rank?”

“Intermediate Transcendent,” she said without hesitation, just as Navrat had instructed.

The clerk glanced at her, skepticism flickering in his eyes. Her slight frame and masked appearance seemed to invite doubt. “You sure about that?”

Ruhi smirked beneath the mask. “Do you really want to test me?”

The clerk hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “Fine. You’re registered. The tournament begins in three days. Don’t be late.”

He handed her a smooth token marked with her entry number. She pocketed it with a nod and turned back toward the bustling streets.

As she moved away from the booth, her senses sharpened. Somewhere within the crowd, a presence brushed against her awareness—subtle but distinct, like a whisper carried on the wind.

Her fingers instinctively tightened around the hilt of her concealed blade. She didn’t turn or pause, maintaining an air of casual confidence. Whoever was watching her wasn’t making a move, but their attention was unmistakable.

Whoever you are, she thought, a flicker of determination lighting her eyes, don’t even think about it.

The presence lingered for a moment longer, then faded into the background noise of the city. Still, the encounter left her uneasy. By the time she reached the inn, the streets had quieted, and the warm glow of the city lights was beginning to dim.

Inside her room, she sat cross-legged, her mind buzzing with anticipation. Navrat’s soul still resided within her body, his energy a steady presence at the edge of her consciousness. She focused on the connection, feeling the faint hum of his training deep within her being.

“Three days,” she murmured, clutching the registration token. “Let’s see what I’m really made of.”

Far from the bustling streets, within the gilded halls of the royal palace, a young woman sat in deep meditation. Her chamber was bathed in soft moonlight, its opulent furnishings casting intricate shadows on the walls.

Her eyes fluttered open, their piercing gaze filled with both curiosity and unease. She pressed a hand against her chest, as though trying to steady her racing thoughts.

“It’s different,” she murmured to herself. “Why does her power feel so… odd?”

She rose gracefully, her movements as fluid as a stream’s flow, and walked to the window. The capital’s lights stretched before her, but her mind was elsewhere.

“I’m sure my senses picked up something familiar,” she continued, her voice tinged with disbelief. “So very familiar to… him.”

Her hands tightened into fists at her sides as her gaze darkened. “What are you trying to pull, Navrat? There’s no way you really died that day. Did you?”

The moonlight framed her silhouette as she stood there, silent and still, the weight of her thoughts pressing heavily upon her. In the depths of her heart, a storm brewed—a clash of anger, hope, and suspicion that refused to be silenced.

The early morning sun bathed the mountain range in a soft golden hue as Ruhi ascended toward the highest peak. The crisp air carried the scent of pine and fresh earth, invigorating her senses. With each step, she could feel the lingering presence of Navrat’s soul within her, steady and composed. Upon reaching the peak, she paused to catch her breath and admire the sprawling view of the kingdom below, the mist rolling like waves in a tranquil ocean.

Navrat’s voice broke the silence.
“So, we will begin our training here,” he said, his tone calm but firm. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a shimmering barrier around the area, isolating them from prying eyes and stray energies.

“This barrier will ensure we’re not interrupted,” he explained before gesturing for Ruhi to take her position. “Now, show me what you can do.”

Ruhi nodded, her resolve firm. She took a few steps back and unsheathed her sword. With graceful movements, she began her practice, slashing and spinning with precision. Her strikes carried power and agility, her footwork light yet deliberate. She moved with the finesse of someone who had trained rigorously, though her stance hinted at areas yet to be polished.

Navrat watched silently, his sharp eyes dissecting every move. After several minutes, he finally spoke.
“Not too shabby,” he admitted. “You’re talented, no doubt. You have the potential to surpass many of your generation. But…” He paused, his voice turning sharper. “You lack the raw experience needed for a true battle. Talent alone won’t save you in the chaos of combat.”

Ruhi bit her lip but nodded in acknowledgment. She knew he was right.

Navrat took control of Ruhi’s body momentarily, and with a flurry of hand signs, he created five identical clones of himself, each emanating a fraction of his own suppressed energy. Giving control back to Ruhi, he gestured toward the figures.
“Your first task is simple,” he said, a faint smirk in his tone. “Defeat one of my clones.”

The spar began.

The clone lunged at Ruhi with unrestrained ferocity, its blade moving in swift, precise arcs. Ruhi barely managed to deflect the strikes, each clash of metal sending shocks through her arms. The clone was relentless, exploiting every gap in her defense.

It wasn’t long before Ruhi found herself on the ground, panting and disarmed.

Navrat’s voice echoed in her mind, calm but instructive.
“Analyze its movements. Every opponent has a pattern, even if it’s subtle. Adapt.”

She nodded, pushing herself up with renewed determination. This time, she studied the clone’s footwork, the timing of its strikes, and the rhythm of its attacks. Slowly, she began to adjust her own movements, finding openings and exploiting them.

After what felt like hours, Ruhi finally landed a decisive blow, disarming the clone with a well-timed counter. The figure dissolved into shimmering energy, and Ruhi collapsed onto one knee, exhausted but triumphant.

“Well done,” Navrat said. “But don’t celebrate yet. The next one will be tougher.”

One by one, the clones attacked, each with a different fighting style. Some were swift and evasive, others brute and overpowering. Each forced Ruhi to adapt, to think on her feet and evolve her strategy. With every battle, she grew faster, sharper, more efficient. The time it took her to defeat each clone shortened significantly, and her movements became fluid, instinctive.

Navrat observed silently, impressed by her rapid progress.
“She’s got potential,” he thought. “But she still has a long way to go.”

When the final clone dissolved, Ruhi stood in the center of the field, her chest heaving with exertion. She wiped sweat from her brow and glanced toward the barrier where Navrat’s voice rang out again.
“Good work,” he said, his tone approving. “Now for the final test.”

Ruhi turned, her eyes narrowing. “Final test?”

“You have to defeat all five clones at once,” Navrat said, his words deliberate.

Ruhi’s eyes widened. “All at once? That’s impossible!”

“In real battle, no one will give you time to analyze and adapt,” Navrat countered. “You need to be prepared for chaos, to think and act in the moment. And this time, they’ll use techniques. You’ll have to find a way to counter them and win.”

Ruhi swallowed hard but nodded. She readied her stance as the five clones materialized before her.

The battle erupted in an instant.

The clones attacked from all sides, their blades cutting through the air with deadly precision. Ruhi dodged and parried, her mind racing to keep up. The pressure was immense—each clone wielded a unique fighting style, forcing her to adapt on the fly.

Flames erupted from one clone’s hand, scorching the ground where Ruhi had just stood. Another clone summoned a series of jagged ice spikes, forcing her to maneuver with even greater precision. She moved with her movement art, Sparking Butterfly, her lithe form weaving through the attacks like a dancer in a storm.

“Think, Ruhi,” Navrat’s voice urged in her mind. “Use your surroundings. Turn their strength into their weakness.”

Taking his advice, she began luring the clones into each other’s line of fire. A fiery blast from one clone accidentally struck another, momentarily destabilizing it. Ruhi seized the opening, landing a powerful strike that sent it reeling.

Despite her efforts, the clones were relentless, their attacks unyielding. Sweat dripped down her face as she fought to keep up. But slowly, she began to see patterns in the chaos.

As the clones regrouped, she leaped into the air, her body glowing faintly with energy. Channeling everything she had, she formed a small, dark orb in her hand.

“Calamity Art: Origin of Destruction!”

The orb shot toward the clones, detonating in a massive burst of energy. When the dust settled, the clones were gone, their forms dissipating into nothingness.

Ruhi fell to her knees, her body trembling with exhaustion. Her vision blurred, and darkness crept at the edges of her consciousness.

“Good job,” Navrat said softly, his tone filled with pride. “Rest now. Harness the natural energy around you—we still have more to do.”

Ruhi collapsed onto the grass, her breathing heavy. As she rested, the natural energy of the mountains seeped into her body, replenishing her strength.

After several hours, she stirred, stretching her sore muscles. Navrat’s voice broke the silence.
“By any chance, do you know how to fly with your energy?”

Ruhi shook her head. “No. I’ve heard it’s a high-level technique, something only nobles can learn. Not someone like me.”

Navrat sighed. “Why do people overcomplicate things? Just follow my instructions.”

He guided her through the process, explaining how to channel her energy to form wings—extensions of her very soul. Ruhi concentrated, focusing her energy on her back. After several attempts, a burst of radiant white light spread across her back, manifesting into a pair of beautiful, shimmering wings.

As she flapped them experimentally, her body lifted off the ground, hovering in the air. A grin spread across her face as she soared higher, the wind rushing past her.

Navrat, however, was lost in thought.
“Pure white wings,” he mused. “Rare indeed. They say the color of one’s wings reflects the nature of their soul and power. Pure creation energy… She’s more special than even I anticipated.”

Ruhi’s voice broke his reverie. “Is this how it’s supposed to work?”

“Yes,” Navrat replied. “You’ve done well for your first attempt.”

Ruhi landed gracefully, her excitement palpable.
“Now,” Navrat said, his tone shifting. “Let’s head back to the capital. We can’t afford to be late.”