The Beginning of Cultivation
"Son… are you awake? Or did you forget? Today is the beginning of your cultivation."
Victor stiffened.
His chest constricted as if a fist had encircled his heart. His purple eyes grew wide with disbelief, fixed on the ceiling as if it would cave in on him.
Next to him, Violet tensed. Her silver hair flowed over his naked chest, violet eyes reflecting his distress. For the first time, the Spirit of Lust—usually a picture of teasing serenity—appeared taken aback, as if a naughty child caught pilfering sweets.
"…Shit," Victor growled softly, tight voice almost a snarl.
The voice of his mother outside the room still lingered in the doorway. He rubbed his hand over his face already picturing what would happen if she came bursting in. His body reeked of sex, sheets disheveled, the sweet perfume of Violet hanging in the air. No—his mother could not see this.
Violet looked at him, softly whispering, "Victor… what do I do?
He breathed heavily, driving his mind through the fog. "Inside. Now." His voice was not to be disobeyed.
She nodded sharply, and then put her hands together. "Fine."
The air vibrated when she slapped her hands twice together. A surge of purple light flashed through the room, silky to the touch but strong enough to roll across all surfaces. The tangled sheets smoothed out, the heavy aroma of musk disappeared, even the faint remnants of sweat on his body dried away. It was as though the room itself had never known transgression.
Victor looked down—and his eyes widened. His bare chest was now once more clothed. A freshly laundered black shirt was wrapped neatly around his body, trousers clinging to his hips. It was flawless, as if he'd gotten dressed hours before.
A light giggle escaped Violet as she stepped in and planted a hasty kiss along the side of his neck. "There… proper and tidy."
He turned his head, catching her eye—softened, warm, nearly tender. For all her fun-loving badness, in this instant she resembled a wife fretting over her husband.
"I'll be going," she breathed. Her body dissolved, her shape unfurling into whirls of violet smoke. It circled once around his chest and then plunged deep within him, vanishing as though she were never there. All that was left was a lingering echo of her heat, a ghostly sensation of lips against his neck.
There was another knock at the door. His mother's voice wafted in once more, softer this time. "Son? Are you awake?"
Victor stood up, schooling his face, and then lowered his voice to calm. "Yes, Mother. I'm awake. I'll be there after I wash up."
"Finally awake," she said, a smile lurking in her voice. "Don't tarry. Your father and I are waiting in our chamber."
"Alright, Mother. I'll be right there."
There was silence again. Victor let out the breath he hadn't even known he was holding. His lips curled, nearly amused, and he grumbled under his breath, "Close call…"
With one quick movement, he threw the sheets aside and lifted his legs onto the floor. The chilled stone caressed his bare feet, anchoring him.
The bathroom beckoned. He walked towards it, rolling his shoulders, his raven-black hair sweeping against the backs of his shoulders. As soon as he entered, steam kissed his skin.
He didn't linger today. Violet wouldn't dream of appearing when his mother was already knocking on the door. He shed his clothes in haste, allowing the water to wash over him. His muscles relaxed, the remnants of last night's excesses washing down with every drop. Yet he couldn't suppress the slight smile that played on his lips as he remembered the warmth of Violet's arms.
Ten minutes passed, and he emerged refreshed, rubbing his hair with the towel. Before him, an intricately carved wardrobe was open, rows of robes hanging in tidy lines.
His eyes passed over them until one caught his eye: a white robe, subtly trimmed with gold, its texture smooth and light. Regal, but functional. He slipped it on without hesitation, the fabric rustling against his skin as he tightened the sash tight around his waist.
He stood in front of the mirror for a moment, settling the robe, raking his long black hair back until it lay neatly beyond his shoulders. His violet eyes glared back at him, more pointed now, serene but ablaze with determination.
A farmer. That was what he was entering today. Not a man, not a son tormented by desire, but something more. His heart puffed up in a peculiar combination of hunger and anticipation.
Victor spun about, moving through the room in quick strides. His hand flattened against the door, opening it. The corridor lay before him, its walls of marble illuminated softly by magic.
"Let's see," he said to himself, lips twisting slightly. "The life of a cultivator starts now."
And with that, Victor proceeded towards his parents' room, preparing to greet the road ahead.