Jalen and his group entered the Flame Clan without any commotion. They went straight to Elijah's quarters, which remained the same—clean and orderly despite his centuries of absence.
They had barely arrived when Patriarch Ricard, flanked by his council, came to visit. Their purpose was clear: they wished to see Jalen, the young man who had single‑handedly wiped out the Iron Cloud Clan. Many suspected he was transcendent, though he appeared otherwise. How else could he have accomplished such a feat alone? Elijah and Jael's presence provided the perfect excuse for the council's visit. Still, it was not only curiosity that brought them; they were genuinely glad to see an elder of their clan and the star disciple Jael, the Verus Rex Sanguine—a dragon king in the making—were safe and sound.
Jalen was courteous, but he did not linger. Even when Elijah invited him to stay the night and share a drink before departure, he declined with a promise to meet again another time. Elijah already knew Jalen was preparing to leave and that he intended to take his disciple Jael with him. Though Elijah felt the pull to accompany them, his duty as an elder bound him to the clan, especially now when tensions in Draco Orbis were rising, shadows gathering like storm clouds on the horizon.
Elijah patted Jalen's shoulder, sorrow and pride mingling in his eyes. "I look forward to seeing you again, Brother. May the true God of heaven and earth guide your steps." He then turned to his disciple, bidding Jael farewell.
Jael stepped forward, his body still frail but his spirit unbroken. He clasped Elijah's arm, leaning close so only his master could hear. "You lied to me," he whispered, voice hoarse yet edged with a faint smile. "You said I would be bound to any woman after sharing a bed with her. I know now that was not true."
Elijah's lips curved into an odd smile, his eyes gleaming with quiet mischief. "How else was I supposed to stop a lustful dragon from fornicating?"
"You got me good, Master," Jael laughed, and Elijah smiled in return.
"I'll miss you, little guy," Elijah said softly, his tone carrying both affection and regret.
Jael's gaze softened, the faint smile lingering. "And I'll miss you, Master. Thank you—for everything."
"Don't slack off now." Elijah tapped the back of Jael's head with a firm but affectionate gesture.
Jael scratched his head and smiled. "I won't. I'll make sure the next time you see me, you'll be proud."
Elijah nodded. "That's the spirit."
With that, Jalen transported Calen, Jael, and the young disciple Vinh a few miles away from the clan. Together they rose into the night sky, their figures cutting across the horizon, leaving behind the warmth of farewell and flying toward the portal that had first carried them into this realm.
Midway to their destination, Jalen slowed. It was not only out of consideration for Vinh, who was airsick and weary from the long hours of flight, but because danger pressed in from beyond. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. The storm that gathered was not born of weather—it was qi itself, heavy, oppressive, and suffocating.
Calen felt it too. He stepped instinctively in front of Vinh, shielding the boy with his own body. Jael moved to Jalen's side, preparing for a battle he knew he could not win, yet confidence steadied him—his father was here.
From the shadows of the mountains, figures emerged. Dozens of cultivators cloaked in darkness, their eyes gleaming with killing intent. Some radiated the oppressive aura of half‑step transcendents, while others carried the weight of the Sky Limit Realm at its peak. Their presence was unmistakable—the Shadow Race.
They had come for Jael, the Dragon King bloodline, determined to destroy him. For centuries they had waited for this moment, hoping to strike when the boy left the Flame Clan compound. Yet as they closed in, hesitation gripped them.
The reason was simple: Jalen's presence.
They remembered the fate of the Iron Cloud Clan, annihilated in a single stroke. None dared to move recklessly against the man who had shattered one of the region's strongest powers. His aura pressed against them like a silent warning, and though their hatred burned, their courage faltered.
"Don't be so eager to rush to your death," Jalen said, his voice calm yet absolute. "Enjoy what little time you have left. My son will be the one to crush you completely. Now scram."
His aura spread like a blanket pressing down across five miles like a mountain. Every living being within its reach felt the weight, though it did not harm them. But for those of the Shadow Race, it was agony—like being boiled alive in hot oil. These so‑called top experts, the peak of this world, trembled in fear. Their bravado shattered, they turned and fled for safety.
Jael was awed by his father's display of power. He clenched his fists and silently swore that the next time they crossed paths, it would be his strength that would crush them into submission.
Calen exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders. He glanced at Vinh, who clung to his robe, trembling. "You see, boy? This is what it means to be a top cultivator."
The group, after a few hours of relaxation, started on their journey again, reaching the portal, its surface shimmering like liquid glass. The same gateway that had once carried them into this realm also opened up to a lake on this side instead of a river.
Calen shielded Vinh with his qi and dove in, and Jael and Jalen followed suit to the bottom of the lake, where there is a formation etched in a silver light that swallowed them whole the second they got close, carrying them back toward the Origin World.
But the return to the Great Erias continent, the Wren state to be exact, was not triumphant. It was heavy, shadowed by realization.
The second Jalen and his son, disciple, and grand disciple—Jael, Calen, and young Vinh—cross the portal; what greeted him was not the stability he had hoped for, but trouble.