"Kaelen, where have you been these past few days?"
The man in the azure robe was none other than Elder Cedric, the steward of the Mystic Dawn Pavilion. Upon seeing Kaelen, he uncharacteristically rose from behind his desk.
"Greetings, Elder Cedric!" Kaelen hurried forward a few steps and respectfully saluted.
"Ah, Kaelen, your master emerged from seclusion two days ago," Elder Cedric said, his expression carrying a hint of sorrow, which made Kaelen's heart tighten with unease.
"My master has emerged? I will go see him immediately!" Kaelen turned at once, about to rush out of the Mystic Dawn Pavilion. However, Elder Cedric called out from behind him.
"Kaelen, your master did emerge, but..." Elder Cedric hesitated.
Kaelen swiftly turned back, anxiety surging even stronger within him. He asked urgently, "Elder Cedric, has something happened to my master? Please tell me!"
Elder Cedric's hesitant demeanor made Kaelen's heart clench even tighter, his palms growing sweaty from tension.
"Kaelen, you must prepare yourself," Elder Cedric said after a moment of silence, his gaze toward Kaelen filled with a trace of pity.
"No..."
Kaelen's heart trembled violently; his body staggered back a step. His voice quivered as he asked, "Is it... my master..."
Elder Cedric did not speak but gravely nodded.
That single motion nearly shattered Kaelen's soul. The world before his eyes seemed to collapse in an instant, his mind struck as if by heavenly thunder, leaving him dazed and lost.
Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His master's kindly visage flooded his mind, yet now, they were separated by the veil of death. Before Master Alaric entered seclusion, Kaelen had already faintly sensed that it might be the last time.
His master had already lived over one hundred and fifty years. His end could come at any moment, but now that the inevitable had happened, Kaelen still could not accept it.
To Kaelen, Master Alaric was not merely a teacher — he was like a father.
"Kaelen, you must mourn, but you must also carry on," Elder Cedric said, seeing Kaelen's face twisted with grief. He could not help but offer words of comfort.
To abandon emotions, to transcend feelings — such was the way of the Immortality. Practitioners of the arcane arts often regarded life and death with a detached eye. The more profound their mastery, the more indifferent they became.
But Kaelen was not a sorcerer; he was a martial cultivator.
He felt deeply, and his emotions were vivid. Martial cultivation was the path of humanity itself, the way of the heart. Passions and desires were natural to mankind.
And because they were innate, they ought not to be discarded. Thus, Kaelen made no attempt to hide his grief, but instead let it flood from his heart.
"Elder Cedric! When... when did my master pass?"
Kaelen, his face blurred with tears he made no effort to wipe away, asked in a broken voice.
"Your master passed into the eternal night just last evening," Elder Cedric replied, his voice heavy with emotion. "He was thinking of you... he wished dearly to see you one last time, but..."
Though Elder Cedric and Master Alaric were not sworn brothers under the same master, they had shared a strong bond of friendship over the years.
Elder Cedric, as a practitioner of the Immortality, sought to transcend mortal attachments. Without ascending to the immortal realms, even the greatest would eventually fall to dust. He did not appear overly sorrowful.
In the way of the immortality, to follow nature was the ultimate path: where there was birth, there would also be death; where there was bloom, there would be wither. This cycle was the rhythm of the heavens.
"Master... your foolish disciple has failed you!"
Kaelen lifted his face to the sky and cried aloud in anguish. Tears flowed without end, and the nearby disciples stared at him in surprise.
"This is what your master left behind for you," Elder Cedric said then, retrieving a bundle and a rod from beneath the desk.
Kaelen, fighting back his grief, reached out and accepted them with trembling hands.
The rod was peculiar — neither wood nor metal, yet possessing qualities of both. It seemed shaped like a sword hilt, and it carried an unexpected weight in his grasp.
This rod, according to Master Alaric, had been obtained along with an ancient cultivation technique by their sect's forebear.
It was no ordinary relic.
Yet across generations, despite countless attempts to uncover its secrets, none had discerned anything remarkable about the violet rod. No matter how it was examined, it appeared mundane.
"Elder Cedric, where has my master been laid to rest? I wish to pay my respects," Kaelen asked, his voice heavy with sorrow.
Though they were master and disciple, the bond between Kaelen and Alaric was that of father and son.
Not being able to see him one last time had left Kaelen stricken with guilt and grief.
"Your master rests in the sect's memorial grounds," Elder Cedric replied. "Enter the graveyard and you will find him."
Even before Elder Cedric had finished speaking, Kaelen was already rushing out of the Mystic Dawn Pavilion. Elder Cedric seemed as though he wanted to say more but ultimately let him go.
Behind the Mystic Dawn Sect, halfway up the mountain, lay a special place.
There, green grass carpeted the ground and flowers bloomed with vibrant fragrance.
If not for the rows of solemn gravestones, one might have mistaken it for a garden.
This was the graveyard of the Mystic Dawn Pavallion— the resting place of countless disciples through the ages.
Not everyone could ascend to godhood. When their time came, they returned to the earth as dust, their struggles forgotten.
The entire graveyard lay silent and still.
In an unremarkable corner along the outskirts of the graveyard, a lone figure stood motionless before a small, humble mound.
It was Kaelen.
He stood there, dazed, from morning until noon, and from noon until evening.
The setting sun stained the mountains crimson, casting an eerie, solemn light across the graveyard.
The humble grave was as plain as could be — a simple headstone, no flowers, a small mound of fresh earth.
Who among men does not die?
Whether of stunning brilliance or humble mediocrity, all would eventually return to dust.
When the lamp of life went out, who would remember?
Who would recall that once, in this vast world, there had been such a person?
The essence of cultivation, whether martial or mystical, was in defiance of the heavens.
Success meant longevity; failure meant oblivion.
Practitioners of the Immortality claimed to follow the will of the heavens, yet even as they surrendered to fate, they fought to transcend it.
Master Alaric's final attempt to ascend had failed.
He could not take that last step, and thus, the great limit fell upon him.
When one's time came, they would pass into the beyond.
This was the law of heaven and earth — none could escape.