Arden woke up earlier than usual.
Sleep had vanished abruptly, as if someone had tapped him on the shoulder.
The room was the same—straight beams, the strict morning light, a wooden sword by the wall.
But something inside had changed.
He lay there for a few seconds without moving.
Listened.
Silence.
And soft breathing beside him.
“Are you awake already, or should I wait a little longer?”
Arden opened his eyes.
Eyra was sitting on his bed, legs crossed. Her hair was loose, her face serious—too serious for her.
“When did you start coming in without knocking?” he asked.
“Since you became interesting.”
He propped himself on his elbows.
“You always thought I was interesting.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Before, you were just my little brother.”
A pause.
“And now?”
She leaned a little closer.
“Now you’re a walking sensation.”
He sat up.
“You already know everything?”
“The whole house knows by now.”
“What exactly?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“How many elements?”
“Nine.”
Eyra’s brows rose, just slightly.
“Nine?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.”
She stared at him for a few seconds.
“Blood too?”
“Yes.”
A short pause.
“And… Heavenly?”
Arden nodded.
“A mutated Heavenly root.”
Eyra froze.
“Heavenly…? Do you even understand what that means?”
He didn’t answer.
“It’s not just rare, Arden. It’s a legend. One in a million. Roots like that belong in chronicles, not in the clan’s daily reports.”
Her fingers tightened on the fabric.
“And you’re saying it like it’s nothing?”
“Panic won’t make it easier.”
She gave a small, crooked smile.
“No. But it does make you terrifyingly calm.”
A pause.
“Just don’t get arrogant.”
“I won’t.”
“With that many elements, you won’t have time for pride.”
She slipped back into her usual self.
“Nine. Do you have any idea how much qi you’ll have to run through your meridians?”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
A light shove to his shoulder.
“You’re officially the Lunveyr clan’s headache now.”
“Is that a promotion?”
“A questionable one.”
He stood.
“Are you mad?”
“A little,” she admitted honestly. “But not at you.”
“Then at who?”
“At the fact the world sometimes chooses the wrong people.”
She quickly hid the seriousness again.
“Up. A new life is waiting for you, young master.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“They already do.”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
She hopped off the bed.
“And by the way, Grandfather’s going to start the lectures today.”
“Today?”
“You think they’ll let you rest after this sensation?”
He exhaled.
“Great.”
Eyra headed for the door.
“And fix your face. You look like you’re going to an interrogation, not a lesson.”
“I just woke up.”
“No. You woke up a genius.”
She stopped in the doorway.
“Arden.”
He looked up.
“Be careful.”
The door closed.
Arden was alone.
Genius.
Nine elements.
The clan’s headache.
He breathed out.
And for the first time he didn’t feel pride.
He felt weight.
In the dining room, it smelled of warm bread, sweet flatbreads, and the faint bitterness of herbal tea.
Morning light lay evenly across everything, without glare. The house was awake, but not noisy yet—only the quiet footsteps of servants, the rustle of fabric, the clink of dishes, muffled voices behind doors.
Arden sat in his place and almost immediately understood something was missing.
Or rather—someone.
He didn’t turn his head at once. He let his eyes linger on the teapot, the neatly placed chopsticks, the saucer of fruit. Pretended everything was fine.
Eyra noticed instantly.
She was already sitting across from him, elbow on the table. The cup in her hand looked too adult for her, as if she’d chosen it on purpose—just to seem older.
“Don’t look,” she drawled.
“I’m not looking,” Arden replied.
“Of course not.”
She took a sip and looked over the rim like she was reading his thoughts.
“Then why do you have that face like you’re about to ask, ‘Where is…’?”
Arden lowered his gaze to the table.
“Where is…”
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“Liora,” Eyra finished for him, and smiled faintly. “Still with the clan head.”
A pause.
Arden nodded.
“I see.”
Eyra squinted.
“And that’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Blushing. Awkwardness. A bad attempt to change the subject.”
“Disappointed?”
“A little,” she admitted honestly, setting the cup down. “I was counting on your human side.”
“I am human.”
“You’re an accountant of your own face,” Eyra snorted. “You tally everything and show nothing.”
Arden calmly lifted his cup.
“It’s not a secret.”
Eyra frowned.
“It’s still weird.”
“Why?”
She tapped a fingernail against the cup.
“Because she comes out in the morning…” Eyra trailed off, then continued reluctantly. “…and pretends everything is perfectly normal.”
Arden couldn’t help a small smile.
“And you want her to pretend it isn’t normal?”
“I want her to come out like she usually does,” Eyra muttered. “So it doesn’t look so… obvious.”
Arden raised his eyes.
“Obvious to whom?”
Eyra hesitated for a second.
“To everyone,” she said at last. “Servants. Guards. Even the ones who pretend they don’t understand.”
She added quickly:
“I’m not even talking about you.”
“I understand,” Arden said evenly.
“And that’s the problem.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because it was easier for me to think you were still a kid,” Eyra said—and immediately grimaced. “But you… you’re not.”
She broke off a piece of flatbread with the expression of someone handling urgent business.
Arden was quiet for a moment.
“You’re embarrassed.”
Eyra snapped her eyes up.
“No.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“Then why are you holding that flatbread like a weapon?”
Eyra froze, looked at her hand, and irritably took a bite.
“You’re awful,” she mumbled.
“Is that a compliment?”
“No. It’s a diagnosis.”
Arden smiled a little.
Eyra saw it and somehow got even more embarrassed. She looked away toward the door.
“She’ll come out tired again,” Eyra said more quietly.
“You already said that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She paused, then added almost in a whisper:
“And… messy.”
She said it and immediately seemed to regret it.
“I didn’t mean to talk about this.”
“You started it.”
“I’m the older sister.”
A pause.
“Is it awkward?” Arden asked.
“A little. But not because it’s happening. Because it’s part of how the clan works.”
He nodded.
“Liora doesn’t look unhappy.”
“I know.”
A few seconds of silence.
“So what does it feel like?” Eyra asked suddenly.
“What, exactly?”
“To wake up a genius.”
“I didn’t ‘wake up a genius.’”
“Nine elements, a legendary root… it sounds like you were chosen.”
“It sounds like work.”
She looked at him seriously.
“They’re going to pressure you.”
“Who?”
“Everyone. The council. The elders. Even the ones who smile.”
She looked away.
“Because now you matter.”
Arden watched her for a long moment.
“I mattered before.”
Eyra gave a humorless smile.
“Before you were the youngest. People could love you. Protect you. They could… not notice you.”
She shrugged.
“Now they’ll treat you like a tool.”
The word landed heavy.
Arden exhaled slowly.
“That’s not news.”
“For you—no,” Eyra admitted. “For me—yes.”
She snapped back into her usual tone.
“That’s it. I’ve said enough.”
Arden smiled slightly.
“You said a lot.”
“Shut up.”
He didn’t take offense.
Eyra stood.
“And if Liora comes out messy, I didn’t say anything.”
“You already did.”
“Not proven.”
She left.
Arden remained at the table.
The house was the same.
But the morning wasn’t.
The courtyard was cool.
The shadow from the roof lay in a neat strip across the stone, and not a single sunbeam had crossed it yet. Servants moved along the edges—someone carried water, someone hauled bundles of cloth, someone silently cleared the path of stray debris, as if even the air had to be tidy.
Arden stepped out alone.
He took a few steps—and stopped.
By the training grounds stood Alaric.
Back straight. Hands behind him. Fingers clasped like he wasn’t holding a pose, but a habit.
He was looking at Arden.
“You’re late,” Alaric said.
Arden stopped at the exact distance where instructions usually began.
“How late?”
“Three minutes.”
“I walked without rushing.”
“And that is what being late is.”
Arden only nodded.
Light footsteps sounded from the side.
Eyra appeared from behind a column.
“He’s a genius now, he’s allowed,” she declared with exaggerated importance.
Alaric didn’t turn his head.
“Genius doesn’t cancel discipline.”
“Mm-hm,” Eyra hummed. “Checked. Doesn’t work.”
Alaric glanced at her.
One look was enough.
“I’m just supporting the atmosphere,” she added quickly.
“The atmosphere will be in the teaching hall.”
Eyra snorted quietly, but didn’t argue.
Alaric looked back to Arden.
“Starting today, you begin your lessons.”
“Understood.”
“Morning and midday—lectures. After midday—meditation. Evening—independent practice.”
“No days off?” Eyra couldn’t help herself.
“With days off.”
She brightened.
“Now that’s—”
“When he earns them.”
Eyra froze.
“…Right.”
She turned to Arden.
“Farewell, freedom.”
“Freedom without strength is useless,” Arden replied.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“He already talks like an elder,” she muttered.
“He talks like a student,” Alaric said calmly. “An elder first learns how to be silent.”
Eyra pressed her lips together and fell quiet.
Arden asked:
“What’s today’s topic?”
“The nature of qi. And the spiritual root.”
“The foundation,” Eyra said under her breath.
Alaric nodded.
They headed to the teaching hall.
Even in the corridor, it was obvious: the looks had changed.
Servants bowed lower.
Guards held themselves straighter.
Eyra said quietly:
“Don’t pretend you don’t notice.”
“I notice.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
She studied him.
“It doesn’t make you happy?”
“It’s not a reason to be happy.”
At the door to the hall, Alaric stopped.
Arden stood beside him.
Eyra lingered a step behind.
“Remember,” Alaric said.
Arden looked up.
“Inside this room, you’re not a genius.”
“Then what am I?”
“A student.”
Eyra exhaled softly, as if she wanted to say something—but thought better of it.
Alaric opened the door.
“Go.”
Arden stepped inside.
The teaching hall was smaller than the assembly hall, but it felt more spacious.
The walls were strict, bare of decoration. The floor was dark, smooth. Along one wall lay neatly stacked scrolls. The center was open.
When Arden entered, the conversation died.
Six were already inside.
Five boys and one girl.
All the same age.
The Lunveyr’s younger generation.
The first to rise was a tall, broad-shouldered boy with short hair. He looked like he’d already decided to be a warrior and was simply waiting for the world to agree.
“Young master,” he said, and bowed.
The rest stood after him.
The second was thin, with quick eyes. The third was stocky, posture tight. The fourth was quiet, with a heavy gaze. The fifth looked the youngest, but wore seriousness like armor.
The girl stood last.
Straight back. Dark hair gathered neatly. A focused, slightly cold gaze.
“Young master,” they repeated.
It wasn’t a friendly greeting.
It was distance.
Arden stopped.
“Sit down.”
They hesitated for a fraction of a second before obeying.
And he noticed that fraction.
The tall boy sat first. The others followed.
Arden walked forward and took a seat closer to the center.
Not at the head.
But not off to the side, either.
Silence hung heavy.
The tall boy broke it first.
“It’s an honor to study beside you, young master.”
Arden held his gaze.
“Here I’m the same student as you.”
A brief pause.
“Don’t complicate it.”
The tall boy exhaled, barely.
But no one smiled.
The difference still lingered.
The thin boy leaned forward.
“Is it true… about the nine elements?”
“It’s true,” Arden answered calmly.
The stocky boy frowned.
“And the legendary root?”
“Yes.”
The hall grew even quieter.
The quiet boy with dark eyes didn’t speak at once.
He watched Arden for a long time, as if deciding.
“Young master…” he began, then stumbled. “Will they demand more from us now?”
The tall boy shrugged awkwardly.
“Well… you’re a genius now.”
The stocky one added gloomily:
“They’ll compare us.”
“And scold us,” the thin boy said softly.
The girl crossed her arms.
“They’ll say: ‘Arden managed. What about you?’”
It didn’t sound like reproach.
It sounded like fear.
Arden looked at each of them in turn.
They weren’t angry.
They just didn’t want to be the ones who fell behind.
“I’m not going to be a measure,” he said evenly.
The tall boy snorted.
“That’s not up to you.”
The stocky one nodded.
“The elders love comparisons.”
Arden narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Then we’ll grow faster.”
The thin boy blinked.
“Was that you motivating us?”
“No,” Arden answered honestly. “I just don’t see another option.”
The girl softened.
“Fine…” she muttered. “But if they start driving us harder because of you, I’m going to complain.”
“To who?” the tall boy asked.
She looked straight at Arden.
“To him.”
For the first time—not like “young master.”
Like a peer.
The door opened.
Alaric walked in.
The conversation died instantly.
Everyone stood.
“Sit,” he said.
They obeyed.
Alaric moved to the center of the hall. His gaze swept over each of them.
It paused on Arden for a heartbeat.
But didn’t single him out.
“You are the Lunveyr’s younger generation,” he said. “Not heirs. Not elders. Not yet.”
A pause.
“You are students.”
He unrolled a scroll.
“And we’ll start with what you think you already know.”
The scroll opened with a dry rustle.
Alaric didn’t pace the room. He stood straight, as if this lecture wasn’t explanation but examination.
“You think cultivation is power.”
No one answered.
“It isn’t.”
He ran a finger along the edge of the scroll.
“Power is a consequence. The goal is higher.”
The stocky boy frowned.
“Then what is the goal?”
“Life,” Alaric said calmly. “Longer than you were allowed at birth.”
The room went quieter.
“An ordinary person lives sixty years,” he continued. “Seventy, if they’re lucky.”
He looked over the students.
“Qi Gathering strengthens the body. Extends life. A hundred years—possible.”
The thin boy blinked.
“A hundred?”
“Possible,” Alaric repeated.
He paused.
“Foundation Establishment is already a different level. On average—about three hundred years.”
Someone inhaled, barely audible.
Three hundred.
It sounded almost unreal.
“Golden Core,” Alaric continued, “is higher still.”
He didn’t smile.
“About eight hundred years.”
The tall boy straightened.
“Eight hundred…?”
“Yes,” Alaric confirmed evenly. “Almost a millennium.”
For a heartbeat, something heavy flashed in his eyes.
Not pride.
Not inspiration.
Experience.
The weight of centuries.
The silence grew thick.
“But it isn’t a gift,” he went on. “Each level demands a reshaping of the body and meridians. The spiritual root is not decoration. It’s direction.”
He looked at the students.
“Your element determines what kind of qi is easiest for you to guide. In the early stages, you can’t use a foreign affinity—only your own.”
“What if there are multiple elements?” the thin boy asked.
“Then the qi begins to mix,” Alaric answered. “Attributes interfere with each other. The flow gets muddy. It grows weaker.”
He paused.
“The more elements, the harder it is to keep balance.”
The tall boy flicked a glance at Arden, then immediately looked away.
“That’s why many believe a single attribute is simpler. Clean. Narrow. Predictable.”
The girl asked:
“And rare ones?”
“Rarity doesn’t equal advantage.”
A pause.
“Sometimes it’s a burden.”
He rolled the scroll back up.
“First level—Qi Gathering. You learn to sense the flow, draw it in, hold it.”
“Second—Foundation Establishment. Qi condenses. Grows more concentrated. Your body stops being ordinary.”
“Third—Golden Core. The crystallization of strength. Stability.”
The stocky boy asked cautiously:
“And after that?”
Alaric looked at him calmly.
“After that is far.”
A few students chuckled quietly.
The tension loosened a little.
“Close your eyes,” Alaric said.
They obeyed.
The hall fell quiet.
Too quiet.
Arden closed his eyes.
At first there was only darkness.
The sound of breathing.
A soft creak of cloth.
Someone shifted awkwardly.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Nothing happened.
The tall boy frowned, even with his eyes closed.
The stocky boy inhaled loudly, as if trying to “catch” qi by force.
The thin boy clenched his fingers on his knees.
The girl went completely still—too still for comfort.
Sensing qi was hard.
For most, almost impossible on the first day.
It didn’t touch the skin.
It didn’t ring in the ears.
It didn’t make itself noticeable.
You had to catch it.
Arden took a slow breath.
And didn’t search.
He simply let his breathing stay even.
And then…
Something changed.
Not a stream.
Not light.
Not a flash.
More like the feeling that the air around him had grown heavier.
Slightly thicker.
He couldn’t say where it began.
Couldn’t draw a boundary.
But he could feel—there was something around him.
Weak.
Barely there.
Different shades.
Warm.
Cool.
Sharp.
Rich.
They didn’t obey.
They didn’t reach for him.
They simply existed.
And that was already enough.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t show a reaction.
Beside him someone exhaled softly—disappointed.
Someone opened their eyes too early.
Someone didn’t even understand what they were supposed to feel.
Arden kept his breathing steady.
He felt it.
But he understood—this was only the beginning.
“Enough,” Alaric’s voice cut through the quiet.
