douluo dalu: Dark Phoenix

The morning sun barely peeked over the misty forest when Ayanokoji set out from the village. The faint dew on the leaves glistened like scattered stars, and the scent of wet earth filled the air.

Today was different.

For three weeks, Ayanokoji had trained quietly, strengthening his control over the Dark Phoenix and sharpening the clarity of his Spirit Eyes. The village routine had become predictable. But last night, deep within his meditation, he'd felt… something.

A ripple.

A soul power fluctuation, faint but distinct, had brushed against his senses like a whisper on the wind. It hadn't come from the forest or the villagers. It was new. And nearby.

A soul master.

That fact alone made Ayanokoji curious.

So, before the village stirred, he left.

---

The narrow dirt path wound through a dense thicket of trees, the occasional bird call breaking the silence. Ayanokoji moved quietly, sensing everything—the life force of small animals, the shifting patterns of the forest's energy.

After walking for about an hour, he reached a clearing, and that's when he saw him.

A boy, about his age, was sitting on a smooth rock by a clear stream.

The boy's appearance was ordinary—short black hair, simple village clothes—but what wasn't ordinary was the faint pulse of soul power emanating from him. It was calm, subtle, but undeniably present.

Ayanokoji stopped, blending into the shadows of the trees, observing.

The boy didn't seem to notice him at first. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, breathing slowly, hands resting on his knees. Meditation.

But then…

"I know you're there."

The boy's voice was soft, but firm. His eyes opened slowly, revealing a calm, steady gaze that met Ayanokoji's golden one without flinching.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Ayanokoji stepped out from the trees, silent as a ghost, until he stood a few meters away, watching the boy with his usual detached expression.

"You're not from my village," the boy said, standing up smoothly, his posture relaxed but alert.

"Neither are you," Ayanokoji replied, his voice quiet, calculating.

The boy smiled faintly. "I'm Tang San. And you?"

"Ayanokoji."

There was a brief silence. The wind rustled through the trees, and the sound of the stream filled the space between them.

Tang San's gaze was curious, not hostile. "Are you a soul master?"

Ayanokoji didn't answer immediately. He could sense that Tang San had soul power, but it was different—gentler, like the flow of water, whereas his own was a storm kept carefully at bay.

"Not yet," Ayanokoji finally said, though he suspected the truth was more complicated than that.

Tang San nodded, as though that answer made sense.

"Why are you here?" Ayanokoji asked.

"I come to this forest to train," Tang San said simply, brushing a hand along the bark of a tree. "It's quiet here."

Ayanokoji studied him. There was a calm self-assurance in the boy, not arrogance but a quiet confidence. It reminded him of… himself.

"And you?" Tang San asked, turning the question back to him.

"I felt a soul power fluctuation," Ayanokoji admitted, deciding there was no harm in honesty. "I wanted to see who it was."

Tang San smiled slightly. "You're sensitive to soul power."

Ayanokoji didn't answer. He was already observing, analyzing. This Tang San—he was different. Stronger than he looked. And cautious.

Good.

---

The First Exchange.

"Do you practice martial arts?" Tang San asked suddenly.

The question was unexpected, but Ayanokoji recognized the curiosity in his tone.

"Yes."

"Would you like to spar?" Tang San's eyes were calm, but there was a spark of interest—a hunger to test himself.

Ayanokoji considered this. It was an opportunity, not just to measure Tang San's abilities, but to test his own physical control without revealing his spirits.

"Alright."

---

They moved to a flat patch of earth beneath the trees.

"No spirit power," Tang San suggested, taking a relaxed stance. "Just hand-to-hand."

Ayanokoji nodded. That was fine.

For a moment, they circled each other, two boys, yet their gazes were sharp, calculating.

Then Tang San moved.

He was fast. Not ordinary-child fast, but precise and flowing, like water. His movements spoke of disciplined training—not the wild, instinctual flailing of a village boy, but the practiced grace of a martial artist.

Ayanokoji dodged the first strike, a palm thrust aimed at his shoulder, with a subtle shift of his weight.

Tang San pressed forward, smooth and relentless, his strikes efficient, seeking openings with surprising speed.

But Ayanokoji… was faster.

He didn't attack. Not at first. He dodged, sidestepped, flowing like a shadow, observing Tang San's form, calculating timing, angles, and rhythm.

Tang San, perceptive, noticed.

"You're holding back."

Ayanokoji didn't answer. Instead, he stepped in close, too fast for Tang San to fully react, and with a fluid motion, caught Tang San's wrist and swept his leg out from under him.

Tang San hit the ground lightly, rolling back to his feet almost instantly, a spark of surprise and respect in his eyes.

"You're strong," he said, breathing a little heavier now. "But you don't attack directly."

"Neither do you," Ayanokoji noted.

A flicker of a smile crossed Tang San's lips.

---

They sparred again. And again.

Each time, Tang San adapted, learning, adjusting his technique. Ayanokoji could see the intelligence in his movements—the way he analyzed patterns and weaknesses, just as Ayanokoji himself did.

The match ended with Tang San on the ground once more, though this time, he was smiling.

"You're amazing," Tang San admitted, sitting up, brushing dirt from his clothes. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Ayanokoji hesitated. "I… was taught."

A truth, if not the whole truth.

Tang San didn't press.

---

A Mutual Understanding.

As the sun climbed higher, Tang San stood, stretching.

"We should spar again sometime," he said. "I think we could both learn a lot."

Ayanokoji considered this. There was no arrogance in Tang San's words—just a simple, honest desire to grow stronger.

"Alright," Ayanokoji agreed quietly.

They parted ways with a nod, Tang San disappearing into the forest, and Ayanokoji watching him go, thoughtful.

This world was beginning to reveal its players.

And Ayanokoji understood, as he stood there, the morning wind brushing against his skin, that Tang San was not someone to underestimate.

A potential rival.

Or perhaps… something more.

The path of a soul master was one of strength, cultivation, and balance.

And now, Ayanokoji had found someone who understood that.

The game was beginning.