Paragon of Destruction

Arran spent four days training in solitude, continuing to develop his sword style as his body slowly recovered.

The work wasn’t particularly taxing — refining the style involved more exploration than labor, and in the quiet green valley, he could improve it without disturbance.

The days passed quickly and pleasantly. Each morning, he would bathe in the ice-cold water of the stream, and after that, he would spend the day alternating between practice and eating, with several naps in between.

He did not follow all of Snowcloud’s advice — to do so would prevent him from practicing at all — but he still took care not to overexert himself. While his body was strong, it had suffered much from a year of neglect, and pushing it too hard would only slow his recovery.

And there was no real need to rush, anyway. Foul though Snowcloud’s potions might taste, their effect was undeniable, and with their aid, Arran felt himself grow stronger by the day.

Four days passed quickly, and when Brightblade and Snowcloud returned, Arran had already regained much of his strength.

At least, that’s what he believed — yet Snowcloud fussed over him as if he was a deathly ill child, seeming even more concerned about his health than she had been before.

She had brought a new supply of the potions she had already given him, along with half a dozen new ones. While they tasted predictably vile, Arran took them obligingly. Even if he was unsure of what exactly they did, he trusted that Snowcloud knew what she was doing.

They spent the days that followed training and eating together, but before long, it was time for Snowcloud and Brightblade to depart again. And when they did, Arran once more set to work on refining his sword style.

This quickly grew into a routine. He would spend half the week with Snowcloud and Brightblade, then spend the other half training by himself.

Occasionally, when he was alone, he would explore the small valley. What most interested him was the path at its end — a place where Brightblade said terrible danger lurked.

He wasn’t foolish enough to actually step onto the path, but several times he spent some hours watching it, curious if he could catch a glimpse of the dangers that lay beyond.

Yet no dangers appeared. All he could see was a narrow path leading further into the mountains, winding through brush and rock. Eventually, he gave up — whatever dangers the path held, he could not see them from the valley.

Snowcloud brought more potions as the weeks passed, creating a stockpile for Arran that would last him months if not longer.

Although he knew nothing of alchemy, it was obvious that she had to be using massive amounts of ingredients. And from the potions’ efficacy, he suspected few of them were easy to come by.

One day, he asked, "Doesn’t the House of Creation object to you using so many of their resources?" He had long figured out that must be the source of her ingredients.

"Their stockpiles are massive," she replied. Seeing Arran’s doubtful look at the response, she shrugged. "They’re complaining, but not too much. They still hope I’ll decide to join them."

Arran frowned. "But you’re leaving for the borderlands soon. Don’t you need to prepare potions for yourself?"

Snowcloud shot him a bright smile. "I already have enough for myself to last the next few years."

If she felt any shame at all for so ruthlessly exploiting the House of Creation’s desire to recruit her, her expression showed no sign of it.

The remainder of the two months passed far more quickly than Arran would have liked. While he had accomplished his goals — he fully regained his strength after just a month, and his sword style was all but finished — some part of him wished that he could have spent years in the hidden valley, dividing his time between leisurely training and spending time with Snowcloud and Brightblade.

But time marched on, and the date of Snowcloud’s departure rapidly drew closer.

When two months had barely passed, Brightblade and Snowcloud appeared in the valley on a chilly morning, a full two days earlier than normal. And from their expressions, Arran immediately knew that the moment had come.

"Time to close off that Destruction Realm of yours," Brightblade said. "We’re taking Snowcloud to the gates."

Arran did as she said, placing a perfect copy of Master Zhao’s seal on his Destruction Realm. After that, they left.

They did not hurry as they traveled to the edge of the Ninth Valley, choosing to walk instead of run and spending their nights in comfortable inns.

After his time in the solitude of the hidden valley, Arran found it strange to be among people again — especially the dense masses that seemed to fill every corner of the Ninth Valley.

Yet the closer they came to the Ninth Valley’s gates, the less Arran cared about all of that. Every day, he became more aware of the reality that Snowcloud would soon be gone for a year. And although her strength gave him confidence that she would be in no real danger, he realized that he would miss her.

Snowcloud, for her part, steadily grew quieter as they neared the Valley’s edge. She had been unusually talkative in the first few days after they left the hidden estate, but as their separation grew nearer, it became obvious that something was weighing on her.

Several times, it looked as if she was on the verge of telling him something important, but each time, she turned away at the last moment.

They finally reached the Ninth Valley’s gates on a cold, misty morning, a long line of merchants already waiting to enter the narrow path into the borderlands.

Brightblade cast a dismissive glance at the line, then led them past it, only coming to a stop when they had reached the gate.

"This is where we part ways," she announced. "Snowcloud, I doubt any novice in the history of this Valley has been as well-prepared for her stay in the borderlands as you are, so I won’t waste time telling you to be careful. Don’t do anything excessively stupid, and don’t slack on your training. I’ll see you in a year."

Despite the firm words, Arran thought he heard a hint of worry in Brightblade’s voice — the same worry he felt himself. Even if there should be no real dangers, a year was a long time, and the borderlands were unpredictable.

"I’ll be careful," Snowcloud said, a small smile on her lips.

Brightblade let out an exasperated sighed that sounded slightly forced. "The two of you, get on with it and say your goodbyes. I don’t have all day."

Snowcloud turned to Arran, and they faced each other silently. There had been many things Arran wanted to say just a moment earlier, but now, he found himself at a loss for words. Snowcloud was about to leave, and it would be a year before they would meet again. As he looked at her, thoughts raced through his mind, and—

"Just kiss him already, you fool," Brightblade’s voice sounded.

Snowcloud suddenly moved forward, embracing him as she pressed her lips against his. They kissed for several seconds, and when she finally stepped back, Arran could see a blush on her cheeks.

Then, she quickly turned around and hurried away. Before Arran had a chance to gather his wits, she had already disappeared into the pass that led to the borderlands.

Arran stood speechless for some moments, though a single cheer sounded from along the line of merchants.

"About time one of you made a move," Brightblade said, a trace of weariness in her voice.

"I didn’t know she... I mean..." The words Arran sought did not appear, and finally, he merely said, "I don’t have much experience with this."

"I never would have guessed," Brightblade replied flatly. "Now let’s go. There’s work to do."

She turned around and headed back toward the Valley at a brisk pace, Arran silently following behind her, his mind still filled with thoughts of Snowcloud.

Yet Brightblade had no intention of indulging his musings, and as they walked, she said, "Your good fortune at the estate has set back your magic training by a full year. We’re going to correct that. Here’s how you will spend the next year..."

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Arran listened intently as she began to speak.

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