They say a person isn't truly young until they've experienced a touch of "middle school syndrome." Everyone, to some degree, navigates that phase, some overtly, others concealing it within. It's the difference between outward display and hidden turmoil.
Liam, however, had always been somewhat mature for his age; his "phase" arrived quickly and departed even faster. By the time he was in middle school, while his peers were still lost in dreams of mythical martial arts, superhuman feats, or otherworldly beings, practicing imaginary martial arts moves and pretending to transform into flying heroes, Liam had already shed such illusions. The world's physical laws, he knew, were too precise for a human to leap three stories high, summon dragons with a clap, or fly simply by wearing underwear outside their trousers. It was impossible.
Yet, despite this rational understanding, he still harbored a fondness for fantasy novels and superhero movies. Perhaps, deep down, a part of him still yearned for the day when a hero, an alien, or a mystical being might truly appear before him. To know something is impossible yet still inexplicably hope for it—perhaps that was humanity's peculiar gift.
Liam chuckled, closing the chat window, though he didn't leave the group. He found the Conclave of Arcane Lore surprisingly entertaining. The awkward, self-serious messages that would normally evoke embarrassment were, from an observer's perspective, unexpectedly amusing. He decided to remain a silent observer, occasionally dipping into the chat history for a daily dose of oddity, a diversion from his mundane routine.
On his laptop screen, the movie continued. It seemed to be a horror film, filled with escalating suspense. It was lauded as the masterpiece of a renowned horror director, rumored to have terrified grown men to tears, leaving many afraid to use the restroom alone. Yet, Liam remained unmoved, feeling no trace of fear. After rewinding the progress bar and re-watching a few minutes, he yawned again, slowly shifting from a seated to a prone position as his eyelids grew impossibly heavy… If the esteemed director knew his film had such a negligible effect, he would surely weep.
In his drowsy state, Liam drifted into a wonderful dream. A truly exhilarating dream, filled with ethereal beings, powerful champions, and breathtaking mystical realms. To live eternally, to move mountains and drain seas, to wander the mortal world with a blade—how many people, throughout history, had yearned for such a destiny? But as age advanced and reality shattered dreams, most could only bury these fantasies deep within their hearts, never to be fully contemplated.
A dream, after all, was just a dream…
The next day, May 21st, Tuesday, 1:00 AM.
Within the chat group, Lord Obsidian, the founder, finally came online.
No sooner had he appeared than River North Wanderer surfaced, asking, "Lord Obsidian, who was that 'Scholar's Burden' you added yesterday? Where do they cultivate?"
"The one I added yesterday? You didn't speak with them? Ah, that was the daughter of an old friend of mine, born in this era. Her aptitude seems quite remarkable; even at such a young age, she's already at the peak of the Third Tier Mortal Ascension, on the verge of entering the Fourth Tier, the Celestial Foundation. Truly extraordinary." Lord Obsidian chuckled as he replied.
Born in this age? So, probably under forty? To be at the peak of the Third Tier Mortal Ascension at such an age was indeed the mark of a prodigy. River North Wanderer nodded inwardly, though the chosen mystical appellation, 'Scholar's Burden,' still struck him as incredibly odd, far from the norm.
As River North Wanderer pondered this, Lord Obsidian suddenly interjected, "Odd? My old friend's daughter's mystical appellation isn't 'Scholar's Burden' at all. In fact, what is a 'Scholar's Burden'?"
Lord Obsidian: "..." He seemed mortified.
"Not 'what is a Scholar's Burden,' but rather the unknown mortal you added by mistake yesterday, Lord Obsidian," River North Wanderer clarified, a hint of amusement in his tone. He cautiously inquired, "Lord Obsidian, surely you haven't added the wrong person?"
"Allow me to ascertain," Lord Obsidian responded.
A few moments later.
Lord Obsidian sent a string of "cold sweat" emoticons into the group. "I truly added the wrong person. The number was off by a single digit in the middle; I mistyped an '8' as a '9'. To think I could commit such a grievous error!"
River North Wanderer chuckled. "I thought as much. No matter how deeply one integrates into modern society, no one would choose 'Scholar's Burden' as their mystical appellation."
Lord Obsidian continued to send cold sweat emoticons. Then, he hastily rectified his mistake, re-inviting his friend's actual daughter to the group.
Group message: 'Fae Willow of the Spirit Isles' has joined the Conclave of Arcane Lore.
This name fit the aesthetic of the Conclave of Arcane Lore perfectly, exuding a rich aura of ancient mystics. The previous 'Scholar's Burden' seemed utterly out of place.
No sooner had the new initiate joined than Blade of the Madman instantly surfaced: "Ho there, new initiate, are you an enchantress? A portrait, perhaps, and measurements? If charming, might we arrange a rendezvous?"
Blade of the Madman had been lurking silently for a long time. Though he possessed the memory of a goldfish, it was still longer than three seconds. He'd been warned yesterday, and to avoid offending another Elder, he'd cautiously observed the situation. Hearing Lord Obsidian say the new enchantress was a friend's daughter, and only a Third Tier mortal ascension practitioner, Madman felt reassured. Not an 'Elder' tier individual; he could indulge his verbal flourishes without fear. He'd been holding back for too long with so few new faces in the group.
As soon as Madman spoke, Lord Obsidian's face darkened.
Fae Willow of the Spirit Isles: "..." A string of ellipses. Then, a hauntingly soft message: "As the hour is late, my daughter has retired for her scheduled meditation. Her device is currently logged in under my presence, awaiting Lord Obsidian's invitation. Ahem... I have long heard of Blade of the Madman's gallant charm and eloquent wit within the Conclave. A pleasure to finally experience it firsthand. Blade of the Madman, I find you admirable. I shall invite you for a drink on another day."
Blade of the Madman instantly felt a mortifying blush creep across his face. To flirt with a maiden only to discover her father online was, in his estimation, the most humiliating experience imaginable. He longed for a hole to crawl into. Fortunately, this Elder seemed amiable, letting the matter pass with a single, gentle remark. The Elder then greeted the other online members, requesting their future care for his daughter, before quietly going idle.
Seeing the Elder depart, Blade of the Madman breathed a sigh of relief, cheerfully remarking, "Well, it seems this Elder isn't one to take offense lightly. Perhaps there'll be an opportunity to chat with Miss Fae Willow herself later."
Lord Obsidian: "..."
River North Wanderer: "..."
Apothecary, rarely active, resurfaced. The man of few words, he usually remained silent, but this time, he managed four words: "Seek your own fortune."
Blade of the Madman: "?" He was perplexed.
But Apothecary, ever parsimonious with his words, offered no further explanation.
River North Wanderer: "Observe the new initiate's mystical appellation prefix," he advised. "To court disaster when it can be avoided – why does Madman never comprehend this simple truth?"
Blade of the Madman: "Prefix? Spirit Isles?" Madman still seemed oblivious.
River North Wanderer: "Indeed, Spirit Isles! And combined with being an Elder, does no name come to mind?" River North Wanderer prodded.
A long pause, then Blade of the Madman suddenly understood, flooding the chat with a string of "kneeling" emoticons: "Is it the Meticulous Lord of the Spirit Isles?"
The Lord of the Spirit Isles was a formidable Elder, honorable and virtuous in every way… save for his peculiar fondness for meticulously debating every trivial detail, elevating pettiness to an art form. Others were merely particular; he was painstakingly meticulous!
River North Wanderer's eyebrow twitched in exasperation. "I offered no such hint!"
Lord Obsidian sighed, unable to bear it any longer. "Madman, my old friend is merely idling, not offline."
Which meant… the chat history might be seen. No, it would be seen! Lord Obsidian couldn't stand by and watch Madman court further disaster. After all, he was a junior in his group.
Blade of the Madman: "Curse it all, I'm ruined!" Madman cried, as if glimpsing a future where the Lord of the Spirit Isles paid a visit, subjecting him to unimaginable torment. His eyes welled up again. Had he, this time, offended an even more troublesome Elder?
Madman shrieked: "Lord Obsidian, I beg you, intercede for me!"
Lord Obsidian merely sent a "cold shoulder" emoticon.
The rest of the group ignored Madman's pitiful wails, calmly shifting the topic.
River North Wanderer: "Lord Obsidian, what shall we do about 'Scholar's Burden'?"
Seven of the Serpent Clan: "Should we remove them? As a mere mortal, it might be inappropriate for them to participate in our discussions."
Lord Obsidian: "Ahem, since they were accidentally added by me, let us consider it a twist of fate. I shall cast a divination to determine the proper course of action." Lord Obsidian replied—primarily because he'd inadvertently added the individual, and to simply remove them now would be a loss of face for him. A divination, therefore, would serve as a convenient pretext for their eventual removal, showcasing his refined demeanor. Moreover, he'd recently taken a keen interest in divination, having studied it for a mere month, and was eager to practice. He now found himself inclined to consult fate before every action.
With that, he consulted a nearby volume, Verses of the Ancients, to perform his divination. He extended his hand, flipping through the pages, activating a mystical divination art. A verse, imbued with unseen power, emerged, forming the foundation of his reading. The divination unfolded with remarkable ease; never before had Lord Obsidian felt such a profound connection since he began studying the art! He gazed at the results with delight.
And then… Lord Obsidian's face turned grim. His expression darkened.
He read the divination: 'In heaven, we would be two-winged birds; on earth, intertwined branches.'
He recalled that this verse, written by an ancient bard, was a classic, often used to describe romance. Lord Obsidian instantly felt a profound sense of unease. Two-winged birds, indeed! Intertwined branches, indeed! He'd rather hang himself from a thorny thicket! Was he, Lord Obsidian, to endure a tumultuous, earth-shattering romance with 'Scholar's Burden,' a male? The thought instantly brought to mind ancient legends of forbidden affections, leaving him feeling utterly nauseated, as if he had swallowed something vile.
"This must surely be due to my insufficient mastery of divination, having only studied for a month… Thus, I must cast another divination! Yes, that must be it!" Lord Obsidian activated his mystical divination art once more, and unseen forces again rustled through Verses of the Ancients. Another verse was drawn. This time, the mystical art flowed with unparalleled smoothness. Lord Obsidian felt supremely confident; this was surely the correct reading! He looked at the divination.
And then… His face paled.
The divination: 'If love endures long, why care for day and night?'
'Day and night,' indeed!
"I refuse to believe this!" Lord Obsidian cast the divination yet again. This time, the sensation was even more profound. Lord Obsidian felt his mastery of divination reach its zenith! This was it! He looked down at the divination: 'Suddenly, I turned my head, and there they were, in the dim light.'
"..."
"Deep breaths, deep breaths." Lord Obsidian calmly closed Verses of the Ancients, gazing wistfully at the sky at a forty-five-degree angle—a truly melancholic sensation! Then, with grim determination, he calmly tore the hardcover volume to shreds, nodding vigorously as he did so. "Indeed, I possess no talent for divination. I was not born to be a diviner. Therefore, all my divinations are undoubtedly flawed!" He tossed the shredded verses aside, secretly vowing never again to meddle with divination.
As the fragments of the hardcover book lay scattered, Lord Obsidian typed into the group chat: "As for 'Scholar's Burden'… let them remain for now. I just cast a divination and discovered a profound connection between us. Their addition to the group was not accidental, but inevitable! Their future destiny shall unfold as it may." He used a flurry of mystical terms to obfuscate the divination's true meaning. As for the actual results, he would never reveal a single word, even under duress! Damn it all, if there was a connection, it was surely a cursed one!
River North Wanderer: "Then let them remain. I suppose they'll eventually leave the group on their own. But what were the results of your divination, Lord Obsidian?" He'd heard of the Lord's newfound interest in divination and was quite curious.
Lord Obsidian: "Well, I must depart immediately; I have an urgent matter." With that, he swiftly logged off, leaving River North Wanderer utterly bewildered.