Morning light crept through the cracks in the shutters, spilling across the wooden floor in faint golden beams. Leon sat at the edge of his bed, motionless, his eyes fixed on nothing.
His thoughts swirled endlessly. Which step had led me to ruin? Was it the gambling, the laziness, the arrogance? Or was it simply who I was? Every choice from his previous life replayed in his mind, each one a bitter thorn. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening.
If I walk the same paths again, I'll only drag them all into death once more.
"Quit gnawing on your failures, little one."
The voice cut through his mind like a blade through silk. Deep, heavy, commanding—Azhar.
Leon's head snapped up, his chest tightening at the sound. The air itself seemed to tremble with the ancient presence.
"You think endless brooding will change anything?" Azhar's words rumbled, sharp and disdainful. "The past is ashes. If you keep licking old wounds, you'll rot before you ever take a single step forward."
Leon swallowed, his throat dry. "I… I was only trying to understand where I went wrong."
"Where you went wrong?" Azhar let out a low, amused chuckle that reverberated in Leon's very soul. "Everywhere."
"Listen carefully, boy." Azhar's voice rumbled through Leon's soul, sharp enough to split thought from thought. "You must abandon the foolish idea that this life is some simple second chance to retrace your steps. This is not the life you squandered. This is not regression. Think of it as reincarnation—new flesh, new thread of fate—yet burdened with the same mind."
His words pressed down like chains, heavy and absolute.
"You believe your memories will protect you, that you can sidestep every misfortune by avoiding old choices. But you are mistaken. Gravely mistaken."
The weight of Azhar's presence deepened, filling the room until Leon felt his very bones tremble.
"The moment I dragged your soul across the abyss and anchored it here, the world shifted. Time splintered. A new current began to flow. The choices you remember? Dust. The people you think you know? Their fates are no longer fixed. Even the smallest breath you take now changes the weave of destiny."
A low, mirthless chuckle rippled through Leon's mind.
"If you cling to your memories like a crutch, they will betray you. What awaits you in this life will not be what you expect. Stronger enemies will rise. Old friends may not remain friends. Paths you once walked will twist into something unrecognizable."
Then the voice hardened, cold as steel.
"So carve this into your soul, boy: this is not your past life. This is a new world born from the ashes of the old. If you wish to survive—if you wish to rise—you must learn to stand on your own strength, not on the corpse of yesterday."
Leon listened to the voice in his mind—commanding, dominating, yet not cruel. For a long moment, he stayed silent, his chest tight.
At last, he whispered back, voice steady with newfound resolve.
"You're right, Azhar. I can't lean on the past. If I do, I'll only repeat my mistakes in another form. I must carve a new path… and build new bonds."
Azhar's presence stirred with quiet amusement, but before he could speak again—
"Leon!"
The call drifted up from downstairs, gentle and warm, like sunlight piercing the dark. "How long are you going to sleep? Come wash up—breakfast is getting cold."
His heart lurched. That voice… that beloved voice.
Mother.
His knees nearly buckled as the memory of her severed head flashed before his eyes. But here she was, calling him like she always had.
Without thinking, Leon stumbled out of his room and rushed downstairs.
---
The smell of fresh bread and warm broth filled the air. Sunlight poured through the window, casting golden patterns across the table.
And there she was.
Emma Sears.
Not the weary, time-worn woman of his last memories, but young again—her beauty restored, her features delicate and graceful. Her chestnut hair flowed in waves over her shoulders, her skin soft and unmarked by age. The warmth in her eyes seemed brighter, her smile so radiant it made Leon's chest ache.
To him, she looked like the very picture of grace, a goddess of home and hearth.
"Oh, you're finally up," she said gently, arranging dishes on the table. "Go wash your face and sit down. Breakfast will get cold."
Leon froze. His vision blurred with tears he struggled to hold back. His chest trembled with the weight of two lifetimes.
He stepped forward, unable to restrain himself, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He held her tightly—so tightly it was as if letting go would mean losing her again.
"L-Leon?" she gasped in surprise, glancing back at him. Her cheeks flushed faintly, unaccustomed to such affection.
But he couldn't speak. His throat had closed, his breath shuddering as he buried his face against her shoulder. The tears he tried to contain spilled freely, soaking into her clothes.
Emma stiffened for a heartbeat, then slowly relaxed. A tender smile softened her lips as she reached up to pat his hand.
"Silly boy," she whispered warmly. "What's gotten into you today?"
But Leon only held her tighter, trembling as though this fragile warmth might vanish at any moment.
After holding her for what felt like eternity, Leon finally forced himself to let go. The fear of losing her again still clung to his chest, but he steadied his breathing, wiping his eyes before she could notice.
He pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, his voice calm though his heart still trembled.
"Mother… where's Father?"
Emma glanced at him, a little surprised by the question. "He left early today," she said softly while setting a plate before him. "The village is busy with preparations. The Elements Choosing Ceremony for the young cultivators is near, and with so many outsiders visiting, the elders demanded more patrols. Your father went to help keep order."
Leon's chest tightened. The ceremony… so it's this soon already. Memories of his past life surfaced—the same event, the same bustling village. Yet this time, he vowed, things would be different.
"I see," Leon murmured, lowering his gaze. After a moment, he asked again, "Do you know when he'll return?"
Emma blinked at him in mild surprise. "What's gotten into you today? You've never cared about your father's shifts before." Her puzzled eyes lingered on him, as if searching for an answer.
Leon picked up a piece of warm bread, his fingers trembling slightly. He forced a smile. "I just… I just felt like seeing Father. He works so hard for us. For the whole village. I want to thank him properly this time."
For a moment, Emma only watched him, her lips parting in quiet astonishment. Then a tender smile bloomed across her face, her eyes softening with affection.
"He does, doesn't he?" she said warmly. "Your father has carried this family on his back for years. No matter how hard things were, he never gave up. To hear you say that… it would make him so happy."
Her expression brightened with pride and love, and Leon's heart clenched again. In his past life, he had never once said those words. Never once acknowledged his father's sacrifices.
This time, he swore, he would not let that man's efforts go unseen.
Emma set a cup of milk in front of Leon, her eyes soft and expectant.
"Tell me, honey," she asked gently, "are you planning to take part in the ceremony this year?"
Her tone carried both hope and doubt. She knew her son—how he always slept through mornings, how cultivation had never once stirred his interest. Still, her heart couldn't help but hope.
Leon looked at her for a long moment before he answered.
"I am," he said simply, nodding with quiet certainty.
Emma blinked. "You… you mean it, honey?" Her voice trembled, as though she feared the answer might vanish if she breathed too hard.
"Yes," Leon replied firmly. "I'll participate."
Her lips curved slowly into a radiant smile. A joy she hadn't felt in years welled up in her chest, softening her face until she seemed to glow. "Oh, honey, you don't know how happy you've made me."
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes glimmering. "Cultivation is dangerous, yes—but it gives so much in return. Strength beyond mortals. A longer life. A chance to protect what matters most. Every mother prays for her child to be strong enough to stand tall, even when she is no longer there… and I'm no different, honey."
Leon's chest clenched at her words. Images of her bloodied body, her desperate cries in his past life, flashed like knives in his mind. He lowered his gaze, hiding the fire that now burned in his eyes.
This time, he swore silently, I will not fail you. I will not waste this chance.
After breakfast, Leon bathed, changed into clean clothes, and shut himself in his room. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he drew a slow breath.
"Azhar," he called inwardly, "tell me about cultivation… and the elements."
The answer thundered through his soul like a hammer.
"Cultivation? Hmph. It is the path of defiance—the path of tearing open heaven and earth until all kneel before you. Do not mistake it for glory, boy. It is suffering dressed as strength."
Leon's shoulders stiffened.
"Not all are fit to walk it," Azhar continued, his tone sharp and merciless. "Some lack the body, some the spirit, some the fortune. Resources are fuel, yes—but even if you drown in treasures, if your flesh is weak or your soul brittle, you will shatter before you take a single step."
A low, humorless laugh rippled through Leon's mind.
"And if you succeed? Then congratulations—you will trade the peace of a mortal life for endless struggle. The higher you climb, the more blades will thirst for your blood."
Leon clenched his fists, his breath uneven. A bloody path…
"As for the elements—listen well. They are the first chains you must break. Fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, light, Dark—mortals call them gifts. They are not gifts. They are brands, carved into the soul at awakening."
Azhar's voice grew heavier, pressing like a mountain.
"Most scrape by with a single, common spark. A few seize rarer affinities. And the rarest of all…" His tone darkened, thick with hunger. "…those who command more than one. The world crowns them as chosen."
Leon's eyes widened, a chill racing down his spine.
"Do not be blinded, little one. The elements are both power and curse. Choose poorly, and they will devour you. Choose well, and they will become the blades with which you carve open the sky."
Azhar's laughter shook Leon's soul.
Azhar's voice rumbled again, darker than before.
"Now… listen well, boy. What mortals call cultivation, I call the Path of Transcendence. It is not simply about strength. It is about shedding the skin of weakness, tearing free from mortality itself. To walk this path is to spit in the face of death, to claw your way toward eternity."
Leon's breath quickened, his heart hammering at the weight of those words. Transcendence… immortality…
Azhar continued, his tone like grinding stone.
"This path begins only after you have awakened an element. That spark becomes your foundation. But the true measure of a cultivator is not the element itself—it is spirit energy. Without it, you are nothing but flesh. With it, you may reshape heaven and earth."
A low laugh echoed, cold and amused.
"Do not be deceived, little one. Spirit energy is not limitless. It devours as much as it gives. It burns the body, crushes the soul, and demands a price for every ounce of power you dare to wield. Few endure its torment long enough to rise beyond mediocrity."
Leon's fists tightened on his knees, his knuckles white.
Azhar's voice grew heavier still, pressing down like a mountain.
"The Path of Transcendence is divided… yes, into stages. Five great realms that mark the ascent beyond humanity. Each is a wall higher than the last, and each requires pain enough to drive men mad. Many die before crossing even the first threshold."
A silence fell, suffocating, before Azhar's final words slashed through Leon's thoughts:
"Do you wish to know their names, boy?"