Twenty years had passed since Rayn left that frozen hell with his father.
Power still decided the worth of every living soul on Aetheleon. Some things, though, refused to stay buried.
GASP.
Jai was asleep, yet he was suffocating. His body trembled beneath the silk sheets, driven by fear. His chest heaved as each breath came sharp and uneven, while cold sweat clung to his skin.
In that other place, he wasn't Jai Chenwongo, golden-haired heir of one of the most feared aristocratic families in Aetheleon. He was someone else. His body felt lighter there, unbound by mortal gravity, and infinitely more dangerous. His thoughts were calm in a way that had nothing to do with peace — clean of hesitation, fear, doubt. As if morality had simply been carved out of him.
In the dream he stood on a shattered, frozen battlefield, the aftermath of something that looked like a god's wrath. The ground was buried under twisted, mutilated corpses of cultivators, blood painting the snow in colors that shouldn't exist — neon green, obsidian black, royal purple.
None of it held his attention. Only the man standing in front of him did.
A sovereign with hair like a moving blizzard and crimson eyes that looked like they could tear reality open. Even asleep, Jai knew, in some part of himself deeper than thought, that this was no ordinary being.
Yaowang Ming.
The name surfaced in his mind uninvited.
His body moved without asking permission. His fingers closed around the hilt of a blade forged from pure void-energy — heavy, ancient, humming with spatial pressure. He walked toward the kneeling sovereign, steady, controlled, inevitable, less like a choice and more like something dragging him forward on a chain he couldn't see.
The blade fell.
A microsecond of resistance — flesh, bone — and then it gave way.
Squelch.
Hot liquid sprayed across his hand. Gold. Radiant gold. The sovereign's severed arm hit the bloody snow, fingers twitching, refusing the truth of what had just happened to it. The blood spread and hissed against the ice.
For one endless moment, the world seemed to stop.
Yaowang Ming turned his head. Their eyes met, and in that crimson gaze there was no fear of death — only something worse. A promise. Revenge that felt, somehow, already fulfilled.
Jai's vision shattered. He gasped awake into the soft luxury of his own bedroom, his hands clenched so hard around the sheets his knuckles had gone white, his whole body shaking.
"...Just a dream," he whispered. The words felt hollow even to him.
It didn't feel like one. The weight of that strike still sat in his right hand — the drag of the void blade, the scalding warmth of golden blood. It felt exactly like a memory that belonged to someone else, living inside muscles that weren't supposed to remember it.
It didn't feel like one. The weight of that strike still sat in his right hand — the drag of the void blade, the scalding warmth of golden blood. It felt exactly like a memory that belonged to someone else, living inside muscles that weren't supposed to remember it.
He forced himself out of bed and crossed to the bathroom, bare feet on cold marble, the chill grounding him a little. He pressed the activation rune set into the wall. Water answered with a soft hum, shaped by spatial formations and raw Gnosis into a school of translucent crimson koi that arced through the air before dissolving into the basin — an unnecessary, arrogant little display, meant to remind anyone watching exactly how wealthy the Chenwongo family was. Jai barely noticed. He splashed the freezing water on his face until his breathing evened out.
When he lifted his head, his reflection looked back at him — golden hair disheveled, blue eyes unsettled, something in his own face shifted in a way he didn't like.
"Why does it feel so real?" he murmured, gripping the sink.
A knock cut through his thoughts, sharp and sure of itself.
"Come in," he said, and his voice dropped its shake, went cold and steady on command.
The door opened. Mable Chenwongo stepped inside, carrying herself with the effortless authority of a woman who commanded legions. Her deep blue dress was woven from Tier 5 spirit-thread silk, shimmering faintly with Gnosis at every step. Her eyes swept him once, cold and precise — not the look of a mother, but of an aristocrat auditing her most important asset.
She set a cup of energy-infused coffee on the side table and pulled him into a brief, exact embrace.
"Happy birthday, Jai."
"Thank you, Mother."
She stepped back, gaze narrowing on his posture. "You look exhausted."
"I didn't sleep well."
"Irrelevant." She dismissed it without pausing. "What matters is what comes next. The Awakening Ceremony is close. You will not fail."
Jai didn't argue. He bowed his head. In the Chenwongo hierarchy, failure wasn't met with disappointment. It was erased.
The Chenwongo dining hall wasn't built for eating. It was built to declare dominance. Pillars of Tier 6 spirit-iron alloy rose toward the vaulted ceiling, carved with defensive runes that pulsed with dormant Gnosis. The floor was polished obsidian marble, reflecting the gold light of the floating chandeliers like a dark mirror. At the center, an enormous table of Black Starwood — dense enough that even a Phase 4 lord would struggle to scratch it — ran the length of the room, inlaid with gold and threads of conductive crystal depicting old family conquests.
Everything in the room spoke of power. Everything demanded it back.
Jai felt the weight of the elders' eyes the moment he walked in.
"Jai. Finally decided to grace us with your presence?" Mable said from her seat, watching his every step.
He took his place beside his father in silence. Edward Chenwongo didn't smile — a Tier 4 lord didn't need to. He radiated the flat, heavy pressure of a man who held life and death over thousands and had stopped finding it interesting.
"Eighteen," Edward said, slicing a piece of spirit-beast meat with surgical precision. "The age talent becomes destiny."
He took his place beside his father in silence. Edward Chenwongo didn't smile — a Tier 4 lord didn't need to. He radiated the flat, heavy pressure of a man who held life and death over thousands and had stopped finding it interesting.
"Eighteen," Edward said, slicing a piece of spirit-beast meat with surgical precision. "The age talent becomes destiny."
"Yes, Father."
Edward held his gaze a moment too long. "If your awakening is weak, you will not remain where you are." No anger in it. No raised voice. Just fact.
Then the room's mood shifted.
Rena had walked in.
Her presence clashed with the polish of the estate — plain, worn clothes, dark hair coming loose. She looked like something that had wandered in from outside and didn't belong.
A maid rounded on her, face twisting with disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you? Stay in your quarters. You get what's left when we're finished."
Rena lowered her eyes. "I didn't get anything yesterday," she said quietly.
No one at the table reacted. The elders kept eating, as if a ghost had spoken.
Under the table, Jai's hand closed into a fist.
The maid shoved a plate of cold scraps into Rena's hands. "Take this and go before you ruin our appetite."
Before Rena could turn to leave, the room went silent.
Beatrice had arrived.
She didn't need to release her Gnosis. Her presence alone pressed the air out of the room. Six hundred years of cultivated strength lived in that frame — a true Tier 2.
"Good morning, Mother," Rena whispered, head bowed.
Beatrice didn't look at her. Not once. She walked past her like she was furniture, took her seat at the head of the table, and only then turned her gaze on Jai and his cousin James.
"Jai. James." Her voice was calm, controlled, and carried more weight than a shout. "Happy birthday." No warmth in it. "And congratulations on your graduation." A pause. "Enjoy the comfort while it lasts. By the end of the week, your worth will be decided."
Jai nodded. There was nothing else to do but survive it.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of performed celebration. Jai and James stood through their graduation surrounded by young nobles who laughed easily, certain that inherited strength made the future a formality.
Jai knew better. Strength was never guaranteed. It was taken.
That night, alone in his room, the quiet felt heavier than usual. The Floater — an expensive training artifact meant to help stabilize raw power — hovered above his desk, glowing faintly. It was only useful to someone who already had power to stabilize.
He looked toward his locked door. Somewhere beyond it, in the estate's damp back corners, Rena existed. Forgotten. Discarded.
"Power decides everything," he murmured, and the words came out with none of a child's softness left in them.
His reflection stared back from the dark window, colder than he remembered looking.
"I won't end up like her." His voice dropped lower. "I don't want a fraction of it."
A thin, hungry smile found his mouth.
"I need all of it."
Somewhere under that, something old stirred — a fragment of the dream. A shadow with ocean-blue hair. A void blade falling. Gold blood on his hands.
"I'm going to make this world mine."
This time, there was no doubt in it at all.