The cold stone floor pressed against Riven's legs as he sat in silence. His eyes remained closed, his breathing slow and controlled. A few healing pills dissolved on his tongue, easing the internal torment from the purging flames. The wounds were still raw, but he didn't care. Pain, to him, was merely another checkpoint.
Time slipped past without meaning. Hours passed as he meditated, his breath steady, following a rhythm—slower than natural, more deliberate. He was using an ancient breathing technique, one older than most sects in this realm even remembered.
Eventually, he opened his eyes.
In his right hand, the Snow Fire Petal pulsed gently—its red and white aura blending into a swirl of elemental power. It radiated a chilling flame and searing cold. Dangerous, potent.
Riven placed the Ember Stones in a circle around himself, each one humming faintly with latent energy.
"Kaira," he muttered, his voice low and unwavering. "Cover me with the Voidless Flame. When the process starts, convert those Ember Stones into pure spiritual energy and guide it into my body."
Without waiting for a reply, he swallowed the petal.
Kaira didn't joke. She didn't tease. She knew what this meant. Her golden form shimmered into flame, encasing Riven in a cocoon of burning gold.
The moment the petal entered his stomach, pain exploded through his chest. He coughed up a mouthful of blood.
"It's begun…"
But this was not a blind gamble. Riven was following an ancient method—a technique he had uncovered in a forgotten ruin during his previous life. A forbidden path to regrow a temporary Veinroot, one not reliant on natural birth or blessings.
The first requirement was complete purification by heavenly flame. Not just any flame—Voidless Flame, an existence beyond perfection.
The second requirement—consumption of a dual-element herb to initiate elemental fusion—was done.
Now came the final, most delicate stage.
"Plant the seed," Riven recalled the technique's words. "Nourish it with energy, purify with fire, and watch it grow into a tree that touches the heavens."
As the Snow Fire Petal dissolved inside him, its essence began forming a seed within his core.
Riven visualized a seed being planted into fertile soil—his own purified body. Kaira's flame surged, wrapping around every nerve, bone, and meridian. The Ember Stones, under her command, disintegrated into fine dust—turning into streams of spiritual energy that poured into Riven.
In his mind, he saw the seed absorbing the energy, taking root, and sprouting.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"It's working… I can feel it."
He didn't rush it. Cultivation wasn't a race—it was a climb.
And then—it began to grow.
Tiny veins extended like roots. Each second passed like an hour. The process was painfully slow, excruciating in its precision. But Riven didn't rush.
He knew that forcing it would mean failure.
By the second day, the sprout had become a sapling, tendrils of new Veinroot spreading throughout his spiritual body. On the third day, it bloomed into a budding tree. By the fourth, its roots coiled throughout his body, pulsing with spiritual energy.
Riven did not move from the circle. He did not eat, did not speak. His breathing remained constant, shallow, sharp—only shifting when the imaginary seed grew.
On the dawn of the fourth day, something changed.
From his navel to his limbs, new veins had formed—pulsing with life, spiritual essence flowing like rivers beneath skin.
"So this is my new Veinroot?" he murmured. Yet a flicker of doubt crossed his face. It had taken mere days. The technique described a process that would normally take months, even with perfect conditions.
"Why did it feel so… complete?" he thought "Is it because of Kaira?
He smiled and sank into his consciousness.
There, curled up like a sleeping fox, was Kaira in her human form—resting peacefully in the golden embers. But something else caught his attention.
In her hands, she held the yellow orb—but it was no longer faint and unimpressive.
It was glowing brightly, surrounded by a deep green flame, radiant and ancient. The energy it emitted pressed against Riven's will, oppressive and foreign.
His smile faded. That flame… it wasn't normal. It wasn't even from this realm.
The green fire gently wrapped around Kaira like a cloak, feeding her power, nourishing her as she slept.
Then the flame stirred.
It twisted and shifted. And a man stepped out from it.
A tall, regal man formed from the emerald fire, his features sharp and unnervingly perfect. He gazed directly at Riven.
"So you're the one…" the man said telepathically. His voice thundered like divine judgment. "The one chosen by our princess."
Riven's eyes narrowed. "Princess…?" His thoughts reeled and said, "Kaira's a flame. A soul. Not… royalty"
The man's eyes turned cold.
"Watch your tongue, human. You know nothing of what she is. She is no ordinary flame. She is a fragment of something far beyond your comprehension. A divine spark from the Flame Clan of the Immortal Domain."
Riven's heart pounded.
"The Immortal Domain? That was a realm where even True Immortals were said to tremble. Galaxies were battlefields there. The laws of nature bent to their will."
"She is our princess," the man continued. "The only daughter of the Eternal Flame Lord. Kaira was disappeared during the Cataclysm… lost to the void. We never imagined she'd be in a backwater like this… much less with a mortal."
The disdain in his voice was sharp.
"And you," he sneered, "a weakling, a speck of dust... are her partner?"
Riven stayed calm. His fists were clenched, but his voice didn't waver.
"I didn't know," he said simply. "But I will protect her. I don't care what blood she carries, or what title she holds. Kaira is… important to me."
The man stared, reading him with burning eyes.
Then, at last, he spoke again—softer, yet colder.
"You'd better mean that. Because if she's harmed… even by accident… I will erase your world from existence."
Riven met his eyes, unblinking. "If she's hurt… you won't need to destroy me. I'll already be dead."
There was silence.
Then the man nodded once, stern and silent, before dissolving back into the green flames. The orb pulsed once and dimmed.
Kaira remained asleep still curled up, still peaceful—unaware of the power being fed into her soul.
Riven withdrew from his consciousness slowly, his expression unreadable.
But inside, his heart was a storm. "Kaira… who are you really?"
Meanwhile, the palace grounds remained unaware of the world-shaking truth unfolding beneath them.
At that very moment, a luxurious carriage drawn by two white spirit horses rolled to a stop at the palace gates. Its black wood was engraved with silver patterns, and the crest of the Red Lotus Kingdom gleamed on its side.
The door opened with a soft click.
Out stepped three young men and two elegant young women, all dressed in pristine white uniforms stitched with gold thread. Each bore the same crimson badge on their chest—emblazoned with three engraved letters: C.V.I. [Crimson Vale Institute]
The palace guards straightened immediately. One of them stepped forward, bowing deeply.
"Welcome back, Crown Prince. Welcome, esteemed guests."
At the front stood a tall, sharp-eyed youth with soft auburn hair and an air of easy confidence—Lucien Alaric, First Prince of the Red Lotus Kingdom.
The others followed him without a word, their expressions neutral—bored, even. Despite their elite status, they seemed largely uninterested in their current surroundings.
Lucien led them through the marble hallways of the palace and into one of its finest resting quarters.
"Brothers, sisters," he said with a warm smile, "please relax for now dinner will be served shortly. It's been a long journey."
They nodded and settled into the lavishly furnished room. The couches were velvet, the windows arched and open to the cool breeze of twilight. Maids served fragrant tea and crisp, spiced cookies.
A thin, refined boy with elegant hands sipped his tea and smiled. "Brother Lucien, didn't you mention a tour of your kingdom? I've been curious since the journey began."
Lucien chuckled. "Brother Jordan, of course. Tonight, rest. Tomorrow morning, I'll personally guide everyone through the capital."
The boy—Jordan Vellein, known for his precise cultivation and quick wit—nodded agreeably.
Their quiet chatter paused as the door opened again.
A tall man entered with a king's presence in every step. His eyes were aged but clear, and his beard trimmed with noble pride.
Lucien rose immediately, placing his cup down.
"Father! Your son has returned."
The others stood as well, offering respectful bows. No matter their status at the Institute, in the royal palace, etiquette ruled.
King Alaric smiled warmly.
"Welcome, welcome. All of you—thank you for making the journey for the evaluation. And Lucien, my son... it's been a year. You've grown taller. Sharper. I'm proud of you."
Lucien lowered his head with a modest smile. "Your blessings guide me, Father."
Alaric gave a soft laugh. "Still too formal, even after all this time."
The group returned to their seats as conversation resumed—but beneath the surface, gears were beginning to turn.
Unaware that the students of Crimson Vale Institute had already arrived at the palace, Riven stepped out of the cultivation chamber, his steps slow but composed. He spoke to no one, ignored the startled looks of passing servants, and walked straight to his private chambers.
He wasn't in the mood for conversation.
Once inside, he shut the door behind him with a soft thud and exhaled deeply. The silence of the room welcomed him like an old friend. He moved to the table by the window, found a half-full wine bottle resting there, and poured himself a glass. The crimson liquid shimmered faintly in the morning light.
He took a slow sip.
Outside the window, the palace garden bathed in golden sunlight—but his gaze was distant, eyes clouded with thoughts that stretched far beyond these palace walls.
His mind was a storm.
"Two lifetimes… the goddess of time… the rebirth… the shattered Veinroot… and now—Kaira."
He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of memory and revelation pressing heavily on his chest.
"Kaira… a princess… from the Immortal Realm…"
Everything that had happened until now flashed before him like a phantom slideshow—faces, flames, blood, betrayal, whispers of ancient realms. His aura thickened unconsciously, dark and cold. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, as if his very thoughts disturbed the stillness.
Emotions surged—grief, rage, joy, awe—all clashing inside him like wild rivers. A lesser man would have shattered under the weight.
Without his notice, a faint blue mark appeared on his forehead. Intricate, ancient, and utterly unknowable. It glowed for barely a second—so brief it could be mistaken for illusion—before fading back into nothingness.
Riven remained unaware. His eyes were still locked on the sky beyond the window.
"The Immortal Realm…
Where True Immortals walk—a realm beyond even the Astral Void Domain I once believed to be the pinnacle…
But that man… that flame… he spoke of them as reality. Which means… there's still a realm above realms."
He clenched his jaw.
Even in the Astral Void Domain… there were no Immortals. Not even legends. Yet now…
He took another sip of wine—this time deeper, as if trying to drown the sheer scale of what he'd just learned.
His voice escaped in a whisper, rough with disbelief and wonder.
"Kaira was right… the universe is far vaster than we imagine. And we… are specks."
He leaned back into his chair, one hand still holding the glass, the other curled slightly as if trying to grasp something intangible. The weight of cosmic truth loomed over him.
And yet a fire ignited in his chest.
The flame of desire. Of ambition.
To rise. To evolve. To ascend past every boundary and touch the end of the path known as cultivation.
He set the glass down, his gaze steady once more.
Whatever the Immortal Realm held—he would reach it. No matter the cost.
This was the moment.
The turning point no one saw coming.
The moment the Crownless Monarch began his journey... towards Ascension.