The morning mist clung to the mountain like a ghost unwilling to depart. Dew dripped from the eaves of the Iron Lotus Temple's training hall, where the scent of pine smoke and sweat lingered in the air.
Inside, Haejin stood barefoot on the polished wooden floor, palms open, eyes closed.
Before him loomed three practice dummies, each carved from solid oak and reinforced with iron plates. Behind him, Master Yulsa observed in silence, his bamboo staff resting against his shoulder.
"Again," Yulsa said simply.
Haejin exhaled through his nose, steadying his heartbeat.
He stepped forward with measured intent, rotating his waist as he had been taught. His right palm flared red-hot, ki surging through the Jinmyeong meridians that ran like rivers beneath his skin. He struck.
Crack!
The dummy splintered down the center, its wooden frame scorched by residual heat.
Yulsa didn't nod.
Instead, he sighed.
"You're forcing it," he said. "The Phoenix Palm is not a hammer. It is a flame."
Haejin clenched his fists.
"I am controlling it!"
"No," Yulsa corrected gently. "You are containing it. There's a difference."
Haejin bit back a growl of frustration.
He wanted to scream. To punch something until his knuckles bled. But he knew what would happen if he lost control again.
Last week, during a sparring session, he had nearly burned down half the training hall.
It hadn't been intentional.
He had been sparring with a senior disciple when his rage took over. The Phoenix Palm erupted uncontrollably, sending the other boy flying and scorching the floorboards beneath them. No one had been seriously hurt, but the message had been clear.
His emotions were still too wild.
Too dangerous.
And worse—he couldn't stop thinking about Soryeon.
The Fire Within
That night, long after the temple had gone silent, Haejin sat alone beneath the unbroken bell.
Its bronze surface gleamed under the moonlight, untouched by time or rust. It never rang—not since the day the previous abbot had passed away. Some said it wouldn't ring until someone truly worthy stood before it.
Haejin scoffed at the idea.
What did ringing a bell have to do with strength?
He stared at his hands.
They were calloused now, hardened by months of training. But they still trembled when he thought about Soryeon. About the screams. About his mother's last words.
I will become strong enough.
Yet here he was, still failing.
Still weak.
A shadow moved beside him.
Yulsa sat down without a word, gazing up at the stars.
"The Phoenix Palm is a mirror," he said after a long silence.
Haejin turned to him.
"What?"
"It reflects the state of your heart," Yulsa explained. "If you are angry, it burns wildly. If you are afraid, it flickers. If you are calm, it dances like a flame in the wind."
Haejin looked back at his hands.
"I don't know how to be calm," he admitted.
Yulsa nodded.
"That's why we meditate. That's why we listen. Because strength without balance is destruction, not mastery."
Haejin swallowed hard.
"I just want to get stronger."
Yulsa placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Then stop trying to fight your own heart."
The Trial of Embers
Two days later, Yulsa announced a test.
All disciples who had begun learning the Phoenix Palm were to spar in front of the entire temple. Each match would be judged not only for skill, but for control.
Haejin's opponent was Min Jiwon , a quiet but brilliant swordsman from the Orthodox Circle who had recently joined the Iron Lotus Temple to deepen his cultivation.
Unlike Haejin, Jiwon had no visible aura of anger or desperation. He moved like water—fluid, precise, and effortless. He didn't need flashy techniques to win.
Haejin, on the other hand, carried his rage like a second skin.
The match began.
Jiwon drew his wooden practice sword and assumed a low stance.
Haejin charged, Phoenix Palm blazing.
He threw a series of strikes—fast, powerful, and filled with raw energy. Sparks flew as he hit the air where Jiwon had been standing moments before.
Jiwon sidestepped every attack with uncanny grace.
"Your strikes are loud," Jiwon said calmly. "Too loud."
Haejin snarled and lunged again.
This time, Jiwon parried with the flat of his blade, redirecting Haejin's force sideways. The momentum sent Haejin stumbling forward.
He barely managed to regain his footing.
Panting, he glared at Jiwon.
"How are you doing this?!"
Jiwon tilted his head slightly.
"I'm not fighting you," he replied. "I'm moving with you."
Haejin tried again, focusing harder than ever.
He slowed his breathing.
Cleared his mind.
Felt the rhythm of his own heartbeat.
And then—
Something changed.
His movements became smoother. His strikes more deliberate. He could feel the ki flowing through him, not like a raging river, but like a steady stream.
He struck once more.
This time, Jiwon didn't dodge.
He raised his wooden sword to block.
Crack!
The sound of impact echoed across the courtyard.
The wooden sword snapped in two.
Haejin stood there, panting, his palm still glowing faintly red.
Silence followed.
Then Yulsa clapped once.
"Well done," he said.
Haejin blinked.
He looked at Jiwon, who gave him a small nod.
"You finally listened," Jiwon said.
The Ember Flickers
Later that evening, Haejin sat alone in the meditation garden, watching the fireflies dance above the lotus pond.
Jiwon approached and sat beside him.
"You were holding back," Haejin muttered.
Jiwon shook his head.
"No. I was letting you find your own rhythm."
Haejin frowned.
"What does that even mean?"
Jiwon gestured toward the pond.
"Have you ever watched how water moves?" he asked. "It doesn't resist the stone—it flows around it. It doesn't fight the wind—it dances with it."
Haejin looked at the rippling surface.
"I've always fought," he admitted. "Even before I came here."
Jiwon nodded.
"And maybe that's why you haven't found peace yet."
Haejin's throat tightened.
He thought of his father—weak, broken, dying in the ruins of their home.
He thought of his mother—shielding him with her body, whispering final prayers to the stars.
"I just want to make sure no one else suffers like I did," he said quietly.
Jiwon studied him.
"Then ask yourself," he said. "Do you want to be feared… or do you want to be understood?"
Haejin didn't answer.
But for the first time, the question made him pause.