Dragon-shaped?

  Lauren froze, her breath catching. Could it be… the lizard that had lain curled around her immortal root?

  “Let’s go! The Sect Master and the Immortal Lords are waiting.”

  Vernon’s voice snapped her back. She inhaled sharply, steadied herself, and hurried after him.

  The grand hall was vast and awe-inspiring, its pillars carved with lightning patterns that shimmered faintly with spiritual energy. More than a dozen figures were already seated inside—Thunder Sect’s most powerful cultivators, gathered together.

  At the highest seats sat two men. One, with a spirited bearing and sharp eyes, could only be the Sect Master himself. The other wore a black robe, his face like hewn stone, a jagged lightning-flower mark burning on his forehead. His presence pressed down on the hall like a storm.

  Lauren didn’t need to be told: this was Immortal Venerable Drake.

  The eight of them stepped forward, dropped to their knees, and bowed low.

  “Greetings, Sect Master. Greetings, Immortal Venerable.”

  “Rise,” said Sect Master Gerald, his voice warm, his smile unmistakably pleased. He turned to the assembly. “A fine crop this year. Most of them still young, only two a little older.”

  One elder stroked his beard and leaned forward. “Sect Master, this child with the Fire Spiritual Root suits Refining Peak well. Why not let me take him as my disciple?”

  Gerald chuckled. “Very well, Junior Brother Logan. Take him when we’re finished.”

  The boy—Warren—immediately stepped forward, dropping to his knees again. “Disciple greets Master.”

  Logan laughed, delighted, and hurried him up to his side.

  Not long after, a graceful woman in flowing robes rose to her feet. “Brothers, I have my eye on the little one with the Water Spiritual Root. I trust no one here will quarrel with me for her?”

  The other elders chuckled. “Since Junior Sister Dorothy has spoken, who would dare compete? She’s yours.”

  Lauren thought the whole exchange far too smooth, too harmonious—clearly the arrangements had been discussed in advance.

  But the little porcelain-doll girl had other ideas. She puffed out her cheeks and pouted. “I don’t want you. I want to take Immortal Master Drake as my master!”

  Dorothy’s smile faltered. Her hand, still raised in a half-gesture, froze awkwardly before she lowered it.

  All eyes turned toward Drake.

  He lifted his gaze, expression unchanging, and spoke in a voice as calm and cold as thunder before the storm. “My Starfell Summit only accepts disciples with special spiritual roots.”

  The child’s eyes filled instantly with tears. She burst out sobbing, loud and shrill, the sound echoing embarrassingly in the hall.

  Sect Master Gerald pinched the bridge of his nose. A child that small was both an advantage and a curse. This one in particular was clearly spoiled rotten—used to getting her way by crying until the adults bent to her whims.

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  “Vernon,” Gerald said wearily, “take her to the orphanage for training. Once she’s disciplined properly, send her to Dorothy.”

  “Yes, Sect Master,” Vernon replied, scooping the wailing Eloise up in his arms.

  Her sobs carried out of the hall until the doors closed, leaving the rest of the children staring, wide-eyed and silent.

  No one else dared to protest when their masters were assigned. Each bowed meekly, terrified of being the next one dragged out.

  Soon, every child had found their place—every child except Lauren and Kareem.

  Drake’s words—I only accept disciples with unusual spiritual roots—sent a jolt of excitement through Lauren.

  She might… she actually might have a chance.

  Sect Master Gerald glanced sideways at the black-robed Immortal. “Uncle Drake, Thunder Sect has no disciples with wind spiritual roots. This boy was born with them—an incredibly rare gift. Why don’t you take him into Starfell Summit?”

  “I’ve never trained a wind-rooted disciple,” Drake replied flatly. “And I don’t intend to start.”

  The silence that followed was thick.

  “…So it would be a waste of his talent to follow me. Forget it.”

  That was it. A refusal.

  But the sect couldn’t very well let their most formidable elder come down the mountain only to leave empty-handed. If he didn’t take the wind-root child, then… was he truly considering the girl with ice spiritual roots?

  A girl who had nearly collapsed inside the Heart-Questioning Gate. A girl whose “flawed character” already had the elders whispering about whether Thunder Sect should even keep her.

  Smiles vanished, voices rose in sharp telepathic whispers.

  Lauren, of course, was oblivious. She thought the discussion was about Kareem’s fate, not hers.

  In truth, Gerald coveted the wind-root boy. Which left them squabbling was her.

  “She has ice spiritual roots. If we release her, Moonlit Sect, Divine Sword Sect, even the damn Calculation Sect will fight to take her. Sect Master, don’t joke about this.”

  “Ice is powerful, yes—but you all saw what happened inside the Heart-Questioning Gate. In hundreds of years, has any disciple taken two hours to crawl out? That wasn’t talent. That was rot.”

  “Sect Master speaks true. If her intentions are corrupted, the stronger she grows, the greater the threat she’ll be to every righteous sect on the continent.”

  “You’re overthinking it,” another countered. “She’s a little older, so she’s slower than the younger ones. In fact, she seems more stable than the children.”

  “Stable? Junior Sister Dorothy, don’t fool yourself. She isn’t slower—she’s dangerous. I’ve served Thunder Sect for centuries, and I’ve never seen anything like her.”

  “That’s exactly it,” another voice pressed. “The young ones are malleable. This one’s personality is already fixed. What happens when she turns on us?”

  The argument fractured the hall into two camps—one demanding her release before she could taint Thunder Sect, the other unwilling to waste such a rare talent.

  Then Drake spoke.

  “Let her join Starfell Summit.”

  The whispers died instantly.

  “…Uncle Master, reconsider,” Gerald said, voice tight.

  “I’ve decided,” Drake said. His tone brooked no challenge. “No more persuasion.”

  Gerald tried once more, lowering his voice: “Uncle Master, what if her intentions are wrong? If she inherits your true teachings and turns… what if she threatens the world?”

  “That’s why I’ll accept her,” Drake said, lightning flickering faintly in his eyes. “If I don’t, let her be swallowed by the Demonic Cult instead?”

  Lauren blinked, confused.

  He? She? Who the hell are they talking about? Kareem or… me? What’s this about ‘I won’t take her and let her fall to the Demonic Cult’? Who’s being accused of devilry?

  The elders exchanged glances, grudgingly conceding. Drake had a point. Keeping her under their watch was safer than letting her slip into enemy hands.

  “Then we’ll follow Uncle Master’s will,” Gerald said at last.

  The decision settled, Gerald turned and smiled at Kareem. “Child, from this day, you will be my disciple.”

  Kareem’s knees nearly buckled. He dropped down, forehead to the floor. “Disciple Kareem greets Master!”

  “Good boy.”

  Lauren blinked hard. Wait. So Kareem’s already claimed? That means all that whispering just now… was about me?

  Me? With evil intentions? Me, possessed? What kind of horseshit is that? Who the hell decided I was a ticking bomb?

  Her fists clenched at her sides, heart pounding. Instinctively, her gaze flicked upward, unease crawling over her skin. Could it be… she hadn’t escaped that thing after all?

  Drake’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade.

  “Lauren. From today forward, you will join me on Starfell Summit. You will be my disciple.”