The feasting fires had long gone out, leaving only the quiet hum of cicadas across the Latian compound. The banners that had blazed crimson and gold during the tournament now drooped heavy in the morning dew. Yet while most of the clan youths still lay abed, bodies sore from celebration and contest, the clan's inner square once more gathered its children.
It was time for the post-tournament assessment.
Elders in long gray robes sat in rows upon the dais, ledgers and spirit tablets before them. Their duty was simple but grave: to record the cultivation levels of every youth under twenty-one, marking the progress of the Latian line. What had begun weeks ago as a tournament of strength now gave way to sober measurement. Strength could dazzle crowds; cultivation was the true pillar upon which the clan's future rested.
The assessment stone was carried forward, a monolith of white jade shot with living veins of silver. When a youth pressed their palm against its surface, it pulsed with their runic aura and revealed their current stage of cultivation. One by one, the names were called.
Note on Cultivation Realms:
Qi Condensation – The beginner's stage. Cultivators learn to sense and draw qi into their bodies, laying the foundation of their path.Foundation Establishment – Solidifying the body and qi channels, preparing for greater power.Core Formation – A cultivator condenses their power into a golden core, granting immense strength and resilience.Nascent Soul – A soul is born within, granting spiritual awareness and projection beyond the body.Soul Formation – A cultivator's soul and body harmonize, preparing for higher tribulations and transformations.Nascent Divinity – By merging Dao with Heaven and Earth's energy, the Nascent Soul evolves into Divinity. At the peak, tribulation decides whether one ascends or perishes.
Beyond this lie the higher Celestial Realms, where mortals shed their fragile vessels and step onto the path of true immortality.
"Arven, son of Tal'Rael."
The boy strode forward, proud even in fatigue. He pressed his hand against the stone. It flared a dim blue.
"Qi Condensation, fourth stage," the elder announced.
There were nods among the crowd. Respectable. Strong enough for his age.
"Niarina, daughter of Veyra."
The girl's silver hair gleamed in the morning light as she touched the jade. A deeper glow, thicker with resonance.
"Qi Condensation, peak."
Murmurs spread. She had nearly broken through. With time, she might yet reach Foundation Establishment before her twentieth year.
More names followed. Stage after stage of Qi Condensation, a handful nearing its peak. These were the fruits of the clan's training halls, the promise of their future warriors. But still, a pattern formed: most were clustered within the same realm, none yet stepping past its threshold.
At last, the herald's voice rang clear:
"Zed, son of Varun."
Silence fell heavier than before. He was the champion, yes, but one whispered to hold only a zombie summon—a useless beast. Many expected he would not measure beyond the rest. Some even leaned forward, hungry to see if the stone would shame him.
Zed stepped forward without hurry. His hand, calloused from years of training, pressed against the jade's cold face.
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the stone erupted with light, flooding the courtyard in a radiance far denser than any before. Silver veins flared, coiling like dragons, and the elder at the tablet stiffened in shock.
"Foundation Establishment," he intoned, voice echoing. Then, after a pause that seemed to hold the world: "Peak."
The square rippled with disbelief.
"What?!"
"How could he already reach Foundation Establishment?"
"We are all still in Qi Condensation… is this a mistake?"
"No. Look at the glow. That's not something that can be faked."
Speculation erupted in hushed tones.
"Maybe he's been given a higher breathing method in secret—something his father entrusted only to him."
"No, all Latian bloodlines train from the same scrolls."
"Then how? How can one so young reach so far ahead?"
"He trains when others rest. I've seen him, sweating in the yards when even the moons fade."
"Madness… no one can break their body day after day without collapsing."
"And yet—look at him. Still standing."
Admiration warred with envy. Some saw a role model: If even a boy with a zombie could climb this far, what excuse did they have? Others clung to skepticism, muttering that his path as a pugilist, weapon and fist alone, could only carry him so far. Once the rest summoned evolved beasts and stepped into higher realms, would he not be left behind?
But in that moment, none could deny his achievement. Zed had surpassed them all.
The assessments concluded with subdued awe lingering in the air. Elders marked the ledgers, their gazes drifting often to the boy who stood apart, silent as ever.
That night, when most feasted again in smaller halls, Zed slipped away. He did not rest. He returned to the training ground, body aching but mind set, pushing himself beneath the stars as though the assessment had been nothing more than a milestone to leave behind.
By the next dawn, he walked the road to the village once more.
The River Anaru shimmered beneath the morning sun, its broad waters silvered with mist. He crossed the white stone bridge, runes glowing faintly beneath his steps, and followed the dirt path that curved through the low fields. Villagers bent to their planting waved to him as he passed, oxen pulling furrows in the damp soil. The Firefly Lagoon gleamed to the east, reeds heavy with tiny lights that would blaze like constellations when night returned.
Stone markers rose along the way, carved with phoenix wings, guiding him down toward the settlement. The scent of earth and woodsmoke reached him before the rooftops did. Soon the clustered houses appeared, thatched roofs leaning beneath the weight of time, but warm with life.
Jiro was the first to see him. The boy darted from the well, eyes wide, and came running barefoot across the dirt.
"Zed! You're back!" he shouted, face breaking into a grin.
Zed allowed himself a faint smile and ruffled the boy's hair when he skidded to a stop.
Jiro's parents soon emerged from their home, wiping hands on aprons. His father was broad-shouldered from years of fieldwork, his mother thin but strong-eyed. Both bowed with warmth as they welcomed him inside, pressing food into his hands despite his polite refusals.
The hearth burned low, casting the room in a golden haze. It smelled of broth and herbs. For a time, he let himself sit among them, listening to Jiro chatter about the village, the hunts, the changing of the season. These moments, rare and fleeting, were an anchor against the storm of cultivation and combat.
Yet as dusk drew near, his gaze wandered toward the shadowed line of the forest. Beyond those trees waited the Beast Lords—creatures that ruled swaths of wilderness, unchallenged, their strength leagues above the prey he had once hunted.
His hand brushed unconsciously against the hilt at his side. His path had never been about ease. Foundation Establishment was not an end, but a beginning. If he was to rise further, if Asura's Breath was to carry him to heights no one expected, then the trials of the Beast Lords would be his next crucible.
The fire popped, and Jiro's laughter rang through the house. Zed let it settle in his chest for a moment longer, then rose, eyes already fixed on the darkness beyond the village.
The forest awaited.