The walk to the patriarch's quarters felt endless.
At first, Caelum tried to focus on his breathing, each inhale a sharp reminder of his bruised ribs, each exhale an attempt to steady the storm inside his chest. But the silence between him and Elder Rynel pressed heavier with each step, until even the night air seemed to thrum with tension.
The path narrowed the further they went. Lanterns gave way to tall stone pillars carved with intricate runes marks of authority, history, and bloodlines. The murmur of voices, so lively near the training grounds, faded. Here, servants and disciples rarely lingered. This was a private way, one reserved only for elders, envoys, and those summoned by the patriarch himself.
Every footstep echoed against the flagstones, a hollow sound that seemed to mock him.
With each step, his mind spun faster.
Is it because of my cultivation?
The thought clawed at him. His growth had stalled for years, crawling like a crippled beast while others soared ahead. The patriarch must have noticed. Everyone must have noticed. Perhaps tonight was the moment they decided his future — or lack of one.
But another voice whispered darker suspicions. Or is it because of my thoughts?
He had been doubting more lately. Doubting his place here. Doubting if he even belonged to this clan, this race. If such thoughts had reached the patriarch's awareness… if the man who ruled them all had sensed disloyalty in his heart—
His chest tightened. He felt dizzy, as though the weight of it all pressed down until he might collapse.
"We're here," Elder Rynel said.
The words broke the spiral. Caelum blinked, realizing his vision had blurred. He nodded absentmindedly, trying to mask the turmoil in his expression.
The gates of the patriarch's quarters opened soundlessly. Inside stretched a palace-like hall, solemn and grand yet strangely austere. Polished wood gleamed beneath the lantern light. Draperies of pale silver hung along the walls, embroidered with the crest of the clan: a branching tree with roots sinking deep and leaves stretching skyward.
But it wasn't the wealth or the symbols that caught his breath. It was the stillness.
This place felt less like a home and more like a sanctum where every sound was weighed.
They moved deeper until at last they entered a wide chamber. At its far end, before a great window that overlooked the estate and the sprawling forests beyond, stood the patriarch.
A tall figure, robed in layered silks of deep green and silver. His long hair, streaked with white, fell freely over his shoulders. Hands clasped behind his back, he gazed out at the moonlit world in silence.
Without turning his head, he spoke. His voice was calm, low, yet it seemed to ripple through the very walls.
"Leave us."
Elder Rynel bowed deeply. "Yes, Patriarch." He cast Caelum one last unreadable glance before withdrawing. The doors closed with a muted thud.
Silence fell again.
Caelum stood frozen in the center of the chamber, the stillness weighing on him. His pulse raced. He didn't dare move until the patriarch's voice came once more.
"What is your current cultivation stage, Caelum?"
The question struck him like a blade to the chest. He stiffened, every fear confirmed in a heartbeat. His lips felt dry, but he forced the words out.
"Middle… middle of the Second Rank, Patriarch."
The admission felt like shame wrapped in syllables. Weak. Far too weak for his age, for his lineage.
He braced himself for rebuke. For disappointment. For words that would cut deeper than any sparring match wound.
But instead, the patriarch nodded once, slowly. And then to Caelum's astonishment he spoke words Caelum never thought he would hear.
"Well done."
Caelum blinked. For a moment, he wondered if his ears had deceived him. His body stiffened in confusion, searching for hidden meaning. Was this sarcasm? Some cruel test of humility?
Yet the patriarch's tone carried no derision, only gravity.
The man finally turned, his sharp features cast in moonlight. His gaze, deep and piercing, settled on Caelum with a weight that made his breath hitch.
"Come," he said, motioning toward the window.
Caelum's legs moved before his mind caught up. He crossed the chamber, each step echoing louder in his ears, until he stood beside the patriarch. Together they looked out over the estate: lanterns glowing like scattered stars, disciples walking in orderly rows, the forest stretching vast and dark at the horizon.
But the patriarch's eyes seemed fixed not on the present, but something far beyond.
"You know, Caelum…" His voice was quieter now, almost contemplative. "My greed may one day lead this clan — no, this entire world — to disaster."
Caelum's heart jolted. His head turned sharply toward the patriarch, searching his face for any hint of jest. But the man's expression was solemn, the weight of his words undeniable.
"I have no choice," the patriarch continued. "I must bet everything on… this." His hand gestured faintly, though Caelum could not tell if he meant the clan, the world, or… him.
Confusion burned in Caelum's chest. He opened his mouth, but no words formed.
And then the next question came.
"Tell me, Caelum." The patriarch's eyes, cold and unwavering, met his own. "Have you felt… anything unusual within you? Strange emotions? Urges you cannot explain?"
The breath caught in Caelum's throat.
For a heartbeat, the chamber seemed to darken, the silence stretching into eternity. His mind reeled, memory dragging him back to the training ground, to the taste of blood that had almost been real, to the hunger that had almost consumed him.
He froze, every instinct screaming to deny it, to bury it so deep no one could ever know.
And yet, under the patriarch's gaze, heavy as mountains, sharp as lightning. He felt as though every lie would shatter before it left his tongue.
Caelum swallowed hard. His voice wavered when it finally emerged, quieter than a whisper.
"…What do you mean, Patriarch?"