Morning sunlight spilled through Aryan's window, warm and insistent.
He woke slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The events of yesterday felt almost dreamlike—the awakening ceremony, the surprise party, his father's unexpected return. He went through his usual morning routine on autopilot, washing up and getting dressed before his mind fully caught up with his body.
Then he spotted the box.
It sat on his desk where he'd placed it last night—black wood carved with flowing symbols he couldn't read. His father had clearly tried to make it look mysterious and important.
The pink ribbons tied around it completely ruined the effect.
Aryan smiled despite himself and untied them. Whatever his father's intentions, the contents were what mattered. He lifted the lid.
Inside lay three items nestled in dark cloth: a leather-bound book, a purple crystal that pulsed with inner light, and several smaller translucent crystals.
Aryan picked up the purple crystal first, holding it to the morning light. It looked similar to the Lightning Origin crystals from the ceremony, but something about it felt different—denser, more concentrated. He tried absorbing a trace of energy experimentally.
The response nearly made him drop it.
Energy surged into him with shocking intensity, far stronger than anything at the ceremony. This wasn't just a Lightning crystal—this was a Lightning Essence crystal, orders of magnitude purer.
"How did he know?" Aryan muttered, turning it in his hands. "How did Father know I'd awaken Lightning?"
His father was a Wind Elementalist. Their family had no known Lightning lineage. Had he somehow predicted it? Or had one of their ancestors possessed the affinity?
Questions for later. His attention shifted to the book.
Simple black leather, slightly worn. Silver letters embossed across the front:
Origin Art of Sparks
Aryan's breath caught. This was exactly what he needed to begin forming his Red Core. He opened it carefully.
The text was dense, technical, illustrated with detailed diagrams of the human body showing energy pathways and nerve clusters. The introduction explained the fundamental theory: Lightning, in its essence, was a flow of electrical sparks—rapid, branching, powerful. The Art of Sparks taught practitioners to channel Origin Energy through blood vessels and nerves in patterns that mimicked electrical current.
Aryan settled onto his bed and began reading.
Hours passed. The morning light shifted across his room as the sun climbed higher. His mother appeared at some point with breakfast on a tray, which Aryan accepted with a distracted nod. He ate without tasting, eyes never leaving the pages.
The book was far more comprehensive than expected. Not just a cultivation manual—practically an encyclopedia on Lightning. Theories about electrical phenomena. Explanations of nerve conductivity. Detailed anatomical charts showing optimal pathways for Lightning essence.
Each chapter built on the last. Aryan took notes in the margins, cross-referenced passages, drew his own diagrams.
Day became evening. Evening became night. His mother brought dinner, which he barely remembered eating. Night became morning again.
Aryan read until his eyes burned, slept for a few hours, then woke and read more.
On the third day, he finally emerged from his room, blinking in the afternoon sunlight. His hair was disheveled, his clothes rumpled from sleeping in them. The book was tucked under his arm.
"Dad!" he called out, heading downstairs. "Dad, where are you? I need to ask you about—"
"He left." His mother's voice came from the kitchen, matter-of-fact.
Aryan stopped mid-step. "What? When?"
"Last Night, while you were busy snoring."
The words landed like a physical blow. His father had been back for less than a day. Aryan had locked himself away studying, and now—
" Why didn't anyone tell me?" The frustration in his voice surprised even him. "I didn't even get to say goodbye. And I have so many questions about the Origin Art, about the crystal—"
"You locked yourself in your room for three days straight." His mother appeared in the doorway, arms crossed but her expression more amused than angry. "You barely spoke to anyone, barely acknowledged when I brought food. You were so absorbed in your 'new toy' that you forgot about everything else. Whose fault is that?"
Aryan opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She was right. He'd thought studying would take a few hours at most. He hadn't expected to get so completely absorbed. As if reading became an obsession for him these days.
The realization sat heavy in his chest. His father had come back—actually come back after two years—and Aryan had missed saying goodbye because he couldn't put down a book.
"Before he left, your father said something," his mother added, her tone softening.
"What?"
"He said he's done everything he can for your foundation. Now it's time for you to create your own path."
Aryan let those words sink in. They sounded encouraging, but part of him heard the unspoken message: I've given you everything I can. Don't waste it.
"He also said something else." His mother's expression became more serious. "He forbade you from asking anyone about any weirdness you might feel about your body. He said to let nature take its course."
That statement triggered a memory Aryan had been too distracted to think about. The Sensory Serum. At the ceremony, it hadn't affected him at all—no trembling, no desperate hunger, no chaotic internal balance. Yet he'd still awakened Lightning. The essence had flooded into him instantly, violently, as if something had been unsealed rather than awakened.
"Mom, why didn't the Sensory Serum work on me?" Aryan asked. "Is something wrong with my body? Everyone else reacted to it, but I felt nothing."
His mother turned away, busying herself with rearranging items on the counter. "I don't know the specifics. You'll have to ask your father when you see him again."
"But you must know something. I can tell."
"Your body is a little special, that's all I can say."
"Then what about my cultivation? Will you guide me?", Aryan asked.
"I think discussing it with Carl will be helpful as he excels in academic knowledge, even better than me when I was young. Not to mention, concepts regarding origin arts for Red code stage also went through changes, which won't fit with my views."
"For example, when me and your father awakened, there was no such thing called sensory serum. What we followed was pure method of Aadvan with some extra precautionary steps. So, our core formation process was also different than yours." Mom explained.
Aryan could only sigh in disappointment. Mom, obvious to his sad face, shifted the mood, "Now go wash up. You haven't showered in three days. You smell like a caveman."
Aryan recognized a lost cause when he saw one. Sighing, he headed for the bathroom.
After a long shower and a proper meal, Aryan felt almost human again. But now, he needed guidance from Carl before beginning cultivation.
Carl opened the door with his usual grin, which widened when he saw Aryan. "Finally emerged from your hermit cave? I was starting to think you'd turned into a bookworm permanently."
"Very funny. Can I come in?"
"Of course." Carl stepped aside. "What brings you here? Wait, let me guess—you're ready to start forming your Red Core?"
"How'd you know?"
"Because I know you. You never do anything halfway." Carl led him to a sitting area. "Your dad gave you an Origin Art?"
"Yeah. Art of Sparks. Sounds cool, right? Spent the last three days studying it." Aryan settled into a chair. "What's yours called?"
Carl's chest puffed out immediately. "Art of the Wind God." He struck what was probably meant to be a heroic pose. "One day, everyone will bow before this god of wind!"
Aryan tried. He really tried to keep a straight face. But the sight of Carl—gangly, messy-haired, currently wearing a shirt with a stain on it—declaring himself a wind god was too much.
Laughter burst out of him. "Wind God? You?" He doubled over. "That's the worst match I've ever heard!"
Carl's proud expression deflated. "Hey! What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing's wrong with the name itself," Aryan managed between laughs. "But you? Sorry, it simply doesn't fit.."
"Whatever, man." Carl rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. "You done insulting me? Because if you actually want advice, I should point something out—we have different elemental affinities. Our cultivation methods are fundamentally different. So there's nothing specific I can teach you about forming a Lightning Core."
Aryan's amusement faded. "Oh. Right."
"But," Carl continued, "I can tell you about the Red Core itself. The general principles apply to everyone."
"I'm listening, Teacher Carl."
Carl shot him an exasperated look. "It's basically a second heart, man. Forms right here." He pressed a hand to his upper abdomen. "The core is an artificially created organ based on the origin art. It stores origin energy, converts it to your element."
"Technical details, duh?"
"Your Origin Art shows you the pattern—how to twist your blood vessels and nerves together in your solar plexus. You channel energy through those pathways over and over until they solidify. That's your Core. Called it 'red' because it's literally made from blood vessels."
Aryan nodded slowly. "So the Origin Art teaches the correct pattern for my element."
"Exactly. And here's the interesting part—once your Core forms, it imprints something from you onto the energy. Creates what they call an 'individual property.' Two Lightning users might both have Lightning, but the way it acts will be different for each person."
"This is such an important detail. Why isn't this written in my Origin art?,"Aryan questioned
"Are you sure this isn't? Knowing uncle, he won't pass anything subpar onto you. Yet.." Carl's tone was latched with confusion, but he continued, "The Core's made from your blood, your life force. It's connected to who you are. Your personality affects how your element expresses itself. Some Fire users burn hot and explosive. Others burn cold and persistent. Depends on the person."
They talked for another hour. Carl shared mistakes he'd made, warned about common pitfalls, described what Core formation had felt like for him. Finally, Aryan stood to leave.
"Thanks, Carl. This really helped."
"Anytime. Just try anything funky and do stupid things. Strictly follow the origin art, no need to be creative here, okay?"
Aryan grinned. "No promises."
Back in his room, Aryan prepared for his first real cultivation session.
He'd spent three days absorbing theory. Now came practical application—actually manipulating his blood vessels and nerves to create the pathways the Art of Sparks required.
The first five days were an exercise in frustration. The book made it sound simple: visualize the pathways, direct your Origin Energy through them, feel the vessels respond. In practice, it was like trying to flex muscles he'd never known existed.
On the sixth day, something clicked. A blood vessel in his arm responded to his mental command, contracting slightly. The sensation was strange—not quite physical, not quite mental, but somewhere in between.
By the eighth day, he could stimulate blood vessels throughout his body at will.
Time to actually begin forming the Core.
Aryan took out the Lightning Essence crystal and held it in both hands. He focused and began to absorb its power.
Lightning essence poured into him in waves. The speed shocked him—energy flooded through him much faster than the book's descriptions suggested it should, filling his blood vessels with crackling power.
He set the crystal down and began gathering the accumulated essence in his solar plexus, trying to weave it into the beginning framework of his Core. But something strange was happening—a significant portion of the energy was being absorbed directly by his blood cells themselves, vanishing into his body instead of staying in the vessels where it belonged.
"The book didn't mention this." Aryan checked his condition carefully. But nothing felt wrong. If anything, he felt stronger, more energized. "Is this what Mom meant about my body being special?"
He decided to follow his father's advice. Let nature take its course.
The cultivation became routine. Wake up. Absorb Lightning essence. Weave it into pathways. Watch a portion vanish into his blood. Repeat.
Days blurred into weeks. The pathways in his solar plexus grew stronger, more defined. The twisted blood vessels and nerves slowly took shape.
But progress wasn't smooth.
Three weeks in, Aryan hit a wall. The pathways he'd built refused to connect properly, energy leaking from gaps he couldn't seal. For two days he made no progress at all, just endlessly repairing the same failing connections. Frustration mounted until he wanted to throw the crystal across the room.
On the third day of that plateau, he tried something different. Instead of forcing the connections, he let the Lightning essence flow naturally, following its own branching patterns. The pathways shifted, reorganized themselves, and suddenly everything clicked into place.
The breakthrough taught him something: Lightning couldn't be controlled through force alone. It needed space to move, to branch, to find its own path. He adjusted his approach accordingly.
The next month went faster.
Two months after beginning, while deep in cultivation one morning, Aryan suddenly felt nauseous.
The room tilted. His carefully maintained pathways wavered and collapsed. He tried to stabilize them, but a sudden dizziness overwhelmed everything. His vision swam.
Blood filled his mouth. He coughed, spattering red across his meditation mat.
Then darkness claimed him.
When Aryan woke, orange sunset light slanted through his window. He lay on his bed—someone must have found him and moved him here. Dried blood crusted at the corner of his mouth.
Panic seized him immediately. Had something gone wrong? Had he damaged something internal?
He sat up carefully and began checking his body, stimulating blood vessels one by one. When he reached his solar plexus region, he found something unexpected.
Nothing. No blood vessels. No nerves. Just a strange, solid presence where his pathways should have been.
Wait. Not emptiness. Something else entirely.
Understanding dawned.
Aryan grabbed the Lightning Essence crystal from his desk and tried to absorb energy. The crystal crumbled to dust in his hands, drained completely dry in seconds. He snatched up the Origin crystals—all of them turned to powder within moments.
Laughter bubbled up from his chest, slightly manic but genuine. "I did it. After two months, I actually formed my Red Core."
But something nagged at him. Richard had said Core formation took roughly six months for normal cultivators. Even talented individuals needed at least four months. Yet Aryan had done it in two.
He thought back to the awakening ceremony. His body had been starving for Lightning essence from the very beginning—that overwhelming, violent absorption. The Sensory Serum hadn't worked because his body's elemental barriers were already gone.
The Vajrasana Body had prepared his physique perfectly. The Art of Sparks was specifically designed for Lightning users. The Lightning Essence crystal had provided pure, concentrated power.
Each piece had been chosen to work with the others, creating perfect synergy.
"There are no coincidences in cultivation," Aryan said quietly. "Only preparation and execution. Father planned all of this."
Every single piece.
He settled back into meditation, focusing inward on his newly formed Core. It pulsed in his solar plexus like a second heart, glowing with purple energy. The structure was solid—blood vessels and nerves woven into intricate patterns, all threaded through with crackling Lightning essence.
But there was something else. Something Carl had mentioned about individual properties.
Aryan focused carefully, trying to sense what characteristic his Lightning had developed.
The answer came like recognition of something that had always been there:
Inexoratio !
Something, that can not be stopped!
That's what he could think of. His Lightning wouldn't be the loudest or the brightest. But once committed to a path, it would never stop. It would find its way through any obstacle, refuse to be denied, push forward with determination that bordered on obsession.
Aryan smiled at his assumption. Although elemental property takes time to be finalized, his subconscious has already set this as a property- it simply suits him.
He had seven months until the academy entrance exams. Seven months to master this power, to learn actual combat techniques, to transform from a boy who'd just formed his Core into someone ready to stand among the talented youth of five kingdoms.
He'd formed his Core in record time. Now comes the real work—learning to wield it.
Aryan stood and stretched, feeling Lightning essence crackling just beneath his skin. He can't wait to try out his newly acquired power.
But first, he needed to find his mother and explain the blood on his floor.
That conversation would be interesting.