Jason stared at the softly glowing band on his palm, still half-convinced he had imagined the entire conversation. The moonlight filtering through the canopy painted silver edges on every leaf. His injured leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a dull reminder of the failed Phantom Kick attempt only minutes earlier. Cool night air brushed the sweat from his neck. Somewhere in the distance an owl called once and fell silent.
"Wow…" he said at last, voice low. "I always thought treasures that gained intelligence couldn't actually talk. The stories always made them sound more like… silent partners. Or traps."
"Most can't," the bracelet replied, its voice dry and faintly amused. "This one is special. I was forged that way."
Jason turned the band slowly between his fingers. The metal felt ordinary—cool, smooth, slightly heavier than it looked—yet the soft pulse of light running along its surface was unmistakably alive. "Then what were you doing at the bottom of a lake instead of with your owner? Treasures like you don't just get abandoned."
A longer silence followed. When the bracelet spoke again its tone had lost some of the earlier mockery.
"I lost my master a long time ago. Decades. Perhaps longer. I no longer believe he is coming back. The lake was simply where I settled after drifting. Quiet. Deep. Safe enough for a long sleep."
Jason considered that. He slipped the bracelet onto his left wrist. The metal settled against his skin as though it had always belonged there. "I'm sorry. Truly. But I still need to train. The tournament isn't going to wait for me to feel sentimental."
"You're still thinking of forcing that leg technique?" the bracelet asked.
"Not a chance. Not until my legs are stronger. I felt the bone complain the moment I tried to channel energy through it. One more attempt like that and I might not walk into the arena at all." He rolled his ankle experimentally and winced. "I need real progress, and I need it quickly."
The bracelet hummed thoughtfully, a low vibration that Jason felt more than heard. "There are many ways to harden a body beyond simple repetition. Refining it with the blood of a beast is one of the more direct methods. Enduring a lightning tribulation is another—brutal, but effective if you survive. Cultivating a proper body-strengthening art is slower but safer. There are rarer methods as well: certain mineral soaks, marrow-tempering pills, even the residual energy of ancient battlefields. Most of them, however, require either wealth or connections you clearly do not possess."
Jason drove another controlled kick into the nearest trunk, holding the power carefully at half strength. The impact still jarred up his shin, but the pain stayed within tolerance. "Unfortunately I don't have access to any of those. No beast blood, no lightning, no pills, no arts. Just a tree and stubbornness."
"You don't," the bracelet agreed. "But I do."
Jason's leg froze mid-swing. He lowered it carefully and stared at the metal on his wrist as though it had suddenly turned to solid gold. The soft glow brightened for a moment, almost smug.
"If you have what I need," he said slowly, "then help me."
"I do. But I will not."
"Why not?"
"Because you are not my master."
Jason's eyes narrowed. The forest around them felt suddenly smaller, the trees leaning in to listen. "Your old master isn't coming back. You said so yourself. Why not take me instead?"
A soft, mocking sound came from the bracelet—almost a chuckle. "As if you are qualified. You are a second-layer tempered-body child who can barely circulate energy without injuring yourself. I have served far greater cultivators."
"I'm not qualified *yet*," Jason said, voice steady despite the heat rising in his chest. "You can't say the same about the future. Give me time and I will become someone worth serving."
"I prefer the present," the bracelet replied. "Promises about tomorrow are cheap. Especially from the desperate."
Jason's mouth curved into a slow, cunning smile. He had bargained with merchants who tried to cheat him on spirit stones. He had stared down Andrew Fox's gang with nothing but pride and a bloody lip. This was simply another negotiation—one he could not afford to lose.
"Then I hope you won't mind if I throw you back into that lake," he said lightly. "You can wait there for eternity for a master who is already a ghost. I'm sure the fish will be excellent company."
The glow on the bracelet flickered, dimming for a heartbeat. "You wouldn't dare."
"Watch me."
He turned and started through the trees toward the water. His steps were deliberate, unhurried. The lake was not far—perhaps two hundred paces through the undergrowth. Moonlight grew stronger as the canopy thinned. Behind him the bracelet remained silent, but he could feel a faint tension through the metal, as though it were watching every movement.
When he reached the shore he stopped at the water's edge. The surface lay black and still, reflecting the broken disc of the moon. Jason slipped the bracelet from his wrist, tossed it lightly into the air, caught it again, and drew his arm back as though preparing a real throw. The metal was warm now, almost feverish.
"All right—fine!" the bracelet blurted, voice sharp with something that sounded almost like panic. "You're my master. Now put your hand down."
Jason lowered his arm, grinning. He did not replace the bracelet yet. "I thought you didn't want me. What changed your mind so quickly?"
"I was testing you," the bracelet said, recovering some of its earlier dignity. "I wanted to see if you would give up the moment someone told you that you weren't good enough. Most people do. You didn't. That is… marginally interesting."
"Then when do we perform the ownership ceremony?"
"What ceremony?"
Jason's eyes narrowed. He turned the band so the moonlight caught its surface. "Don't play the fool. I know how these things work. Treasures that have gained true spirits require a bond—something that leaves a permanent mark so they recognize only one master. Blood is the most common."
"You mean a blood print," the bracelet said, sounding almost resigned. "You could have simply said so from the beginning."
"When do we start?"
"Easy. Leave a drop of your blood on me. The rest will follow."
Jason didn't hesitate. He bit down hard on the pad of his thumb until the skin broke and a dark bead of blood welled up. The copper taste filled his mouth. He pressed the bleeding thumb firmly against the metal. For a moment nothing happened. Then ancient characters written in pure crimson light bloomed across the bracelet's surface, swirling and shifting like living ink. They sank inward, vanishing into the metal as though the band itself had drunk them. A faint, cool thread of connection unfurled inside Jason's mind—foreign, precise, and unmistakably *his*. It settled somewhere behind his thoughts, quiet but present.
He exhaled slowly. The pain in his thumb was already fading. "It's done. Now give me the body-strengthening technique."
The next words arrived directly inside his head, clear and private, as though spoken against the inside of his skull.
*Sorry, kid. Your realm is still too low to access what's sealed inside me. The restrictions are absolute. I couldn't override them even if I wanted to.*
Jason blinked. He glanced around the empty clearing, then back at the bracelet. "Why can I hear you in my head?"
*Because you are my master now. Speaking this way costs me far less energy than vibrating the air. It is also more private. Useful, when you are surrounded by people who would ask inconvenient questions.*
"How do I answer without looking like a madman talking to himself?"
*Simply think the words clearly. Direct them toward me. I'll hear them.*
Jason tested it, forming the thought carefully. *Like this?*
*Exactly like that. Good. You're a quick study when you want to be.*
He pressed on, still speaking mentally. *Fine. Communication is settled. How am I supposed to strengthen my body if I'm not strong enough to unlock whatever you're holding?*
*As I said earlier—beast blood or a lightning tribulation. Lightning is rare in this region and even rarer for someone at your level to survive. That leaves the blood of a beast at least one full stage above your current cultivation. A second-layer tempered-body cultivator needs the blood of a third-layer beast, ideally higher if you can manage it. Obtain a sufficient quantity, and I will guide you through the refining process step by step. That much I can do for my master. The hunting, however, is entirely yours.*
Jason stared out across the dark water. The moon's reflection wavered as a night breeze passed. *How am I supposed to kill something stronger than me when I've never even refined beast blood before? I've barely fought other people, let alone spirit beasts.*
*That part is not my problem,* the bracelet replied, its mental voice calm and unyielding. *I can teach you the refining method. I can warn you if the blood is unsuitable. I cannot swing the blade for you or take the claws meant for your throat. Get the blood. I'll handle the rest.*
Jason drew a long breath. The tournament announcement still echoed in his mind. Three open positions. Dozens of desperate applicants. Andrew Fox and his friends would almost certainly be watching, waiting for any chance to break him publicly. He needed every advantage he could seize, and he needed it before the first match was called.
*Fine,* he thought at last. *I'll go prepare. I need to know what beasts in this region are strong enough, and where they can be found without walking straight into a Fox family hunting party.*
*A wise first step,* the bracelet answered. *I will remain quiet unless you call for me. Drawing attention to a talking treasure is rarely healthy for either of us.*
Jason turned away from the lake. The bracelet rested cool and silent on his wrist once more, the new bond humming quietly at the edge of his thoughts like a second pulse. He began the walk back through the trees, favoring his injured leg, mind already turning over maps of the outer woods, the locations of known beast trails, and the thin margin of time remaining before the tournament began.
The weight of everything—family, pride, survival, and now this strange new partnership—settled heavier across his shoulders with every step. Yet beneath the pressure a thin, fierce thread of excitement had begun to burn. For the first time since the night the McCray compound burned, he was not entirely alone in the dark.