Seven years later.
The meditation hall lay deep within the northern wing of the Lunveyr clan’s residence, also known as the Crimson Moon. High vaults rose into shadow. Stone walls were traced with the lines of a complex formation, feeding the center with a soft, even light. At the very heart of the hall stood a circle of white stone, carved with symbols of stabilization and flow distribution.
Along the edges of the hall stood nine crystals, each a different color.
Scarlet: fire.
Dark blue: water.
Azure: wind.
Brown: earth.
Green: wood.
Dark crimson: blood.
Violet: lightning.
Gold: metal.
Clear: ice.
The crystals pulsed gently, tuning themselves to the central formation.
In the center sat a young man.
Eighteen had erased the last traces of boyhood. Long black hair was loosely tied behind his back, a few strands falling over his shoulders. His face had hardened, his cheekbones sharpened, his gaze grown colder. His build was lean but dense, trained with deliberate precision.
He wore expensive black clothing with white accents along the sleeves and collar. The fabric was heavy yet light, embroidered with subtle protective symbols. A silver Lunveyr medallion hung at his throat—the emblem of the Crimson Moon.
He sat perfectly still.
Qi circulated through nine directions. The streams no longer tore at his meridians the way they had in the early years. Back then, every advance came with pain, as if his inner channels were trying to split under incompatible elements. Now the pressure remained, but it was manageable. His meridians had strengthened. The conflict hadn’t vanished—it had submitted.
His eyelids twitched.
Green eyes opened.
He let out a long breath.
“At last.”
His voice was lower, steadier.
“The fourth step of Qi Gathering is secured.”
He listened to his inner state.
“The pace matches a mid-grade root.”
If his root hadn’t been heavenly—nine elements—he would have stalled at the second step. Too many conflicts. Too much mismatched qi. Any ordinary multi-root disciple would have shattered their meridians long ago.
But his root endured.
And the clan had invested enough.
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Purification pills. Strengthening baths. Stabilization formations. Alaric’s personal instruction. The Crimson Moon’s best resources weren’t given at random.
He knew it.
And he never considered his progress to be his achievement alone.
Many single-attribute cultivators his age were already standing on the fifth step.
He could feel each element separately.
“But my understanding of the elements is higher than theirs.”
He could distinguish the shades of each stream. Feel the smallest fluctuations. Manage the conflict instead of crushing it.
It wasn’t fast.
But it was deep.
He rose. The formation slowly dimmed. The crystals lost their pulse.
Eyra was already waiting in the corridor.
Light hair fell softly over her shoulders. Her figure had fully matured—slim waist, rounded hips. Her face kept its cute lines, but her gaze was sharper now. Her clothes emphasized her silhouette, and the fabric barely concealed her full chest.
Arden let his eyes linger for a heartbeat.
Not there.
He snapped his gaze higher.
Eyra noticed.
“Done?”
“Yes.”
“And what step?”
“The fourth step is secured.”
She crossed her arms.
“And of course you took a saturation pill again.”
“It kept me from getting distracted.”
“It removes hunger and the need for rest for seven days. And it’s mildly harmful,” she said sharply. “You know that.”
“I do.”
“Then why push yourself again?”
“I needed to stabilize the flows.”
“A week, Arden. You spent a week in the formation.”
Irritation mixed with real worry in her voice.
“My meridians don’t hurt the way they used to,” he replied calmly. “I controlled the process.”
“You always control everything,” she said quietly. “Right up until you cross the line.”
He looked at her more closely.
“You shouldn’t be barging into my bedroom like you used to. We’re both adults now.”
Eyra flushed.
“I didn’t— It’s different.”
“Of course.”
She looked away.
“You’ve become impossible.”
“I’ve gotten older.”
She exhaled.
“Come on. Liora’s waiting.”
The Crimson Moon’s dining hall was spacious, with wide windows and a massive dark table carved with intricate patterns. Silver dishes caught the light; the food was arranged with care—stewed meat, fresh bread, fruit, fragrant rice, herbal tea.
Liora sat by the window.
Long golden hair fell down her back. Her petite frame looked fragile, but confidence lived in her movements. She wore her clothes carelessly—a thin fabric resting loosely on her shoulders, barely holding her chest in place.
Arden’s gaze paused.
And he immediately looked away.
Liora smiled softly.
“You look different.”
“I secured the fourth step.”
Eyra snorted.
“And exhausted yourself again.”
Liora studied him more closely.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Temporarily.”
For a few minutes, they ate in near peace.
Eyra idly prodded at her rice.
“I’m stuck on the third step, if anyone cares.”
Liora replied evenly.
“You stopped training.”
“Because there’s no point,” Eyra said, just as evenly.
Arden lifted his gaze.
“You have three elements.”
“A small root. Not rare. Not outstanding. Just… sufficient.”
She shrugged.
“I understand my limit. Even if I reach the fifth step, it’ll be a ceiling for years. And then I’ll hit a wall again.”
Liora said gently:
“You’re capable of more.”
“No. I’m capable of what I was allotted. And I’ve already seen it.”
There was no envy in her voice.
Only sobriety.
“The tournament still concerns you,” Arden said.
“The tournament concerns you,” she answered. “As for me—it’s whatever the elders decide.”
Liora’s face grew serious.
“This time, the empire’s third prince will arrive—Darion Crane. With his son.”
Eyra stopped smiling.
“He’s competing?”
“Yes. Lukaris Crane. Fifth step of Qi Gathering.”
Arden nodded calmly.
“So he’s one step above me.”
Liora spoke slowly.
“His temperament isn’t easy. He likes to underline his superiority too… vividly. And he doesn’t always stop when the other person has already had enough.”
At that moment, a servant entered and handed over a scroll.
“A message from the clan head.”
Liora unrolled it and skimmed the lines.
Her face went pale.
“After the tournament, an engagement will be announced.”
“Whose?” Arden asked.
Liora raised her eyes.
“Eyra’s. To Lukaris Crane.”
Silence stretched.
Eyra didn’t understand at once.
“What?”
Her fingers turned white.
Arden looked at her.
Not at Liora.
Not at the scroll.
At Eyra.
For the first time, there was no irritation in her eyes.
Only fear.
He slowly shifted his gaze back.
Fourth step against fifth.
And now it wasn’t just the clan’s honor.
It was his sister’s fate.
The tournament stopped being a test.
It became an obligation.
