The sky stretched vast and golden, the sun dipping toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the Lei Clan’s outer district. The scent of earth and sweat clung to Veylan’s skin as he sat outside his family’s small home, muscles aching with exhaustion. His fingers absently traced the rough wooden step beneath him, breath steady despite the brutal training he'd endured.

  Six years had passed.

  He had grown taller. His once-soft features now bore the sharp edges of discipline. Though still a child, his frame had been carved with lean muscle—a testament to years of quiet, gruelling effort. Under his father’s secret guidance, he had forged himself, day by relentless day. Every session a war against his limits. Every moment of rest a reminder: weakness was not allowed.

  No one in the clan suspected the truth. It had to stay that way.

  His father, Rhen, ensured the training remained hidden from prying eyes. If the clan discovered how far he’d come, it would bring scrutiny—attention they couldn’t afford. And so, Veylan trained in silence. His progress locked away between him and his father.

  The door creaked open behind him.

  “Veylan.”

  Liora’s voice was gentle, laced with concern. He didn’t turn.

  She stepped closer, her eyes scanning his worn frame. Lately, he came home like this more often—drained, clothes damp with sweat, steps heavy. She didn’t know the truth. But a mother’s intuition couldn’t be fooled.

  “You’re exhausted,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Come inside. I’ll make something warm for you.”

  Veylan stayed still. Her warmth, her softness—neither stirred anything in him.

  He pulled his hand away.

  “I don’t need it,” he said flatly.

  Liora frowned. “You have to take care of yourself. You—”

  “I’m fine.” Cold. Distant.

  A shadow crossed her face. She swallowed her hurt.

  “You’re still a child, Veylan. Let me—”

  “I don’t need help.”

  Sharper than he intended, but he didn’t take it back.

  She hesitated. There was something in his eyes—something distant. Something she could never reach. She wanted to argue, to pull him back. But what could she say that hadn’t already been ignored? What could she do when every attempt slipped through her fingers like water?

  She exhaled softly. “At least rest a while,” she murmured, standing. “I’ll bring you some water.”

  He said nothing.

  As she disappeared into the house, Veylan let out a quiet breath. He knew she cared. That she tried. But no matter how much she did, she would never be her.

  No one could be.

  His mother from before—her warmth, her strength—still lived inside him. Even after six years in this world, that part of him refused to fade.

  Veylan closed his eyes, then rose to his feet.

  There was no time for weakness.

  Tomorrow, training would continue.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The dense canopy rustled above, a soft whisper against the brutal rhythm of Veylan’s training. Sunlight barely pierced through the foliage, casting shifting shadows across the clearing where father and son stood. The air was filled with the thud of fists against wood, the rasp of breath, the occasional crack of underbrush.

  He stood in the centre, drenched in sweat. His shirt clung to his body, muscles screaming. His small hands were raw, bruised from striking the thick wooden post—wrapped in rough bark to harden the body. His knuckles throbbed. He ignored it.

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  Rhen watched in silence, arms crossed.

  “Again,” he said.

  Veylan exhaled and struck. Fists slammed into wood. His arms jarred with every blow. Weighted bands strapped to his legs turned standing into a battle of will—but he didn’t falter.

  “Faster.”

  He obeyed. Sweat dripped from his chin, breath ragged, but his strikes didn’t slow. Every blow brought pain. He embraced it.

  Minutes dragged like hours. His limbs trembled, vision blurred—but he moved.

  Finally, Rhen spoke.

  “Enough.”

  Veylan didn’t stop.

  “I said enough.”

  Authority in his voice—but Veylan clenched his teeth and hit again. And again. His body screamed. He didn’t care.

  A hand caught his wrist mid-strike.

  Rhen's gaze bore into him. “Pushing past your limits is one thing. Breaking yourself before the battlefield is another.”

  Veylan yanked free. “I can still move.”

  Rhen sighed. “Veylan—”

  “I’m not weak.” Quiet defiance. He turned back to the post, fists tight. “I can keep going.”

  Rhen studied him, then turned away.

  “Do what you want.”

  Veylan didn’t need permission.

  He ran. Legs lead-heavy, breath burning. He struck. Knuckles split. Shoulders screamed.

  He endured.

  Because weakness wasn’t an option.

  And he would never stop until he was strong enough.

  After a few more punches, his body gave out. He collapsed, limbs shaking violently. Breath came in harsh gasps, each one burning. His muscles no longer obeyed. The clearing blurred into haze.

  Then—footsteps. Sharp. Urgent.

  “Veylan!”

  Liora’s voice tore through the silence. She crashed through the underbrush, skirts tangled, hair loose. Panic in every movement. She rushed to his side, hands hovering, uncertain. Her face twisted in panic. “What is wrong with you, Rhen?! He’s just a child! Look at him—he can’t even move!”

  Veylan barely lifted his head. Liora’s glare was sharp, her fists clenched.

  Rhen stood nearby, arms crossed, unreadable.

  Her anger only seemed to amuse him.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “He won’t break.” His gaze never left Veylan. “I would know.”

  Liora turned on him. “He’s exhausted to the bone! You’re treating him like—”

  “Like a cultivator,” Rhen interrupted. “Do you think the path to strength is kind? Do you think our enemies will show mercy?” His voice hardened. “Or have you forgotten who I am, Liora?” The weight in his words was undeniable. “And my son… he will surpass me.”

  She flinched—but didn’t back down. “And you’re also his father, Rhen. Not a heartless monster. He’s just a boy—”

  “A boy who will one day surpass even me.”

  The certainty in his voice silenced her.

  She turned back to Veylan, her face soft with worry. She reached out, but before she could touch him, he shifted away.

  “I don’t need help,” Veylan muttered. Weak, but firm.

  Liora froze.

  The pain in her eyes surfaced, but she masked it quickly. Her hands fell away.

  Veylan forced himself upright. He didn’t look at her. Her concern washed over him like mist—present, but weightless.

  No one in this world mattered.

  No one… except her.

  His real mother.

  He closed his eyes, focusing on his breath.

  Then—he felt it.

  A pull. Quiet. Constant.

  It had always been there, subtle. But now, in his drained state, it was loud. The Qi he worked so hard to absorb… was being swallowed. Vanishing somewhere deep inside him.

  His eyes snapped open.

  A deep frown settled on his face.

  By all measures, his cultivation should have been monstrous. The 8th level of Qi Awakening at six? Anyone would call it genius.

  But to him, it felt slow.

  Too slow.

  Like taking three steps forward… and being dragged two steps back.

  His fists clenched.

  Where was all that Qi going?

  Something stirred within him.

  Then—

  A surge erupted.

  Raw power blasted through his limbs, rushing through his meridians like wildfire. Heat flooded his core. Muscles trembled. Bones vibrated, thrumming with energy. Pain crested—then snapped into clarity. For a breathless second, the world stilled. No pain. No thought. Just… power.

  It didn’t feel like winning. It felt like drowning—until he surfaced, changed.

  It was like being reborn.

  Mortal Vein—9th Level.

  His body lightened. His breath sharpened. Strength surged.

  Dark impurities seeped from his pores—cleansing filth expelled with every breakthrough.

  Veylan exhaled, fists curling.

  The frustration was gone. The doubts were gone.

  But still…

  Why did it feel like something gave me this breakthrough?

  A ripple in the air.

  Rhen’s head snapped toward him. His instincts flared.

  He recognized it instantly—a breakthrough.

  His gaze sharpened as he looked at his son, still seated, breath evening out. The scent of impurities lingered.

  Monstrous.

  There was no other word. Veylan had already exceeded expectations—but this?

  This was something else.

  Six years old.

  Mortal Vein, 9th Level.

  Liora gasped. “He…?” Her eyes darted between Veylan and Rhen. “He really broke through?”

  Rhen exhaled, arms folding. A smirk tugged at his mouth.

  “Of course he did. He’s my son.” His voice rang with pride. “With that talent, it won’t be long before he stands beside me as the fourth Foundation Establishment expert of the Lei Clan.”

  Liora, still stunned, clenched her hands.

  Even after all his coldness, all his distance—she felt nothing but worry.

  She would support him. No matter what.

  Veylan stayed silent.

  His mind still lingered on what had just happened.

  He had felt it—that flood of Qi.

  But where had it come from?

  He could barely think. His body was wrecked. His mind clouded.

  I’ll figure it out later.

  For now, one thing was certain.

  He had to push harder.

  Move faster.

  Until nothing could stand in his way.

  He would unravel the mystery inside him. He would master his strength.

  He would walk the path of power to its peak.

  As night settled, a faint breeze whispered through the trees.

  Deep within his body—unseen, unnoticed—something stirred.

  A presence.

  A silent force pulsed once, then fell still.

  Hungry.

  Waiting.

  Like this was just the beginning.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.