The boy's eyes snapped open.
Pain surged through his ribs, his shoulder, and his spine. His spirit sea trembled, and his meridians felt scraped raw. His dantian barely had any qi. He groaned softly, breath shallow, limbs heavy.
He staggered upright, clutching his side, vision blurred.
The chamber was vast—low ceilings veined with moss and root systems, walls etched with layered concealment glyphs and breath-dampening seals. The air was cool, iron-rich, and silent. A single sealed space, held together by formation.
He didn't remember arriving. He didn't remember being moved. The last thing he recalled was collapsing after the fight.
His gaze swept the room.
And in the far corner, someone moved.
A man—young, maybe in his early twenties—knelt beside a shallow pool, steam rising around him in soft curls. He was preparing something. A bath? The boy couldn't tell. His senses were still reeling, but the man's presence was unmistakable.
Cedar-toned skin. Coarse raven-black hair bound at the nape. Wiry frame, composed like a blade sheathed in silence.
The boy's gaze locked on his eyes.
They were blue.
Not the pale frost of Ice Qi, nor the deep sapphire of noble bloodlines—but something windlit and quiet. Eyes that didn't pierce but watched. That didn't demand but endured. They held no threat, yet his instincts flared anyway.
His fingers twitched. Flame Sparks stirred.
A blade of fire materialized in his hand, trembling slightly.
He raised it. "Who are you?"
Jalen didn't flinch. He turned slowly, his gaze calm and unreadable.
"Is that how you greet the man who saved your life?"
The boy hesitated, then let the flame blade dissolve. He wasn't dead. He wasn't under attack. That meant this senior had saved him.
"I'm sorry, senior, for being rude," he said, bowing despite the pain. "It's just… in the cultivation world, people with good intentions are rare."
Jalen gave a quiet nod.
"And thank you—for helping me."
The boy's gaze then swept the chamber. "If you don't mind me asking… where are we, senior?"
Though he no longer suspected Jalen of ill intent, he hadn't fully let his guard down. His posture remained alert—ready, just in case this kindness turned out to be a trap.
Jalen found it quietly amusing. A Moon Realm cultivator bracing to defend himself against a Sage Realm expert? That wasn't bravery—it was delusion. Still, he couldn't fault the boy. The kid had no idea what realm Jalen had reached. If he did, he'd know that caution here wasn't just futile—it was irrelevant.
"We're in an underground sanctuary," Jalen replied. "I brought you here to recover."
The boy bowed again, slower this time. "Then… thank you. Truly."
Jalen's gaze didn't waver. "What's your name?"
The boy hesitated, then straightened. "I am Tyrian Hewitt."
Jalen blinked. "Hewitt?" As he suspected, the boy was blood.
Tyrian nodded, still a bit shaken.
Jalen's gaze sharpened. "You're a descendant of Tian Hewitt—the young genius who helped escape the subrealm all those years ago."
Tyrian's breath caught. "You knew my great-great-great-grandfather?"
Jalen nodded. "He's my second cousin. My name is Jalen Hewitt."
Tyrian's eyes widened. "Jalen… the prodigy of the Hewitt clan? The one Granddad always spoke of with awe?"
He dropped to his knees, bowing low. "This unfilial son of the Hewitt family greets his ancestor."
Jalen blinked. Ancestor? At twenty-two?
He sighed. "Please rise. There's no need for formalities."
Tyrian stood slowly, still stunned.
He'd heard stories of Jalen—whispers passed down through generations. The servant's son who rose from obscurity to shake the entire Rouna Continent. The one who, despite his humble birth, surpassed not only the elders but even the patriarch of the Hewitt family.
He wasn't just a clan prodigy—he was a once-in-a-lifetime genius. The man who aided his great-great-great-grandfather in his cultivation. The name Tian Hewitt spoke with reverence, awe, and pride.
And now, that legend stood before him.
Then a thought crept in—what if he was lying?
No… that couldn't be. At least, he hoped not.
This man—this ancestor—had always been his role model. The stories, the legacy, the impossible feats. Tyrian had dreamed of meeting him, of becoming someone like him.
And now he had.
Jalen's tone sharpened, cutting through the moment. "What happened? Why were you fighting someone clearly out of your league?
"I had no choice," Tyrian chuckled briefly. Then he gave Jalen a brief summary of what went down.
It started when he stumbled into a small subrealm in the mid-tier state of BayRale two weeks ago. He and many cultivators were all searching for legacy remnants and rare treasures in. Deep within the ruins, he located a powerful flaming treasure—one that Flame Sparks was drawn to. The relic pulsed with ancient heat, and the moment he retrieved it, everything changed.
He managed to claim it before the others, but that act drew their hatred. Even those stronger than him turned on him. The moment he triumphed, the realm began to self-destruct. The treasure had triggered its collapse.
They all scrambled to escape.
Only a few made it out.
And those few tried to kill him for a couple of days.
He escaped most of them. But one—an Imperial Realm cultivator wielding lightning qi—tracked him across the border. A disciple of the Elemental Sword Sect.
There was no negotiation. No warning.
Just a brawl.
He won. Barely.
And now—he was here.
Once Jalen had a full grasp of the situation, he spoke evenly. "I've stabilized your condition and mended the worst of your injuries while you were unconscious. But you're not fully healed yet. I've prepared a medicinal bath—it'll accelerate your recovery."
He could've used Flame of Recursion to restore Tyrian instantly, but the boy wasn't in critical danger. Spending that kind of energy on non-lethal wounds would've been wasteful.
"Thank you, Great Elder," Tyrian said. Then hesitated. "Um, senior… Don't take offense to this, but is it true that you have three eternal spirit tools as well?"
"Isn't that how you were able to tell I was present five hours ago after your fight?"
"Actually, it was my eternal-grade spirit tool that told me someone was watching. It never explained how it knew. But now I know."
I see. Jalen thought.
"It is as you say—I do have three eternal-grade spirit tools. But no one can know about this. That goes for close family and friends. You should also be careful how you talk about such treasures. You've seen how powerful these tools are. If you're not strong enough, they can bring forth calamity to yourself and those you love."
"I'm sorry, senior, for being so reckless. I was just curious and wanted to know what these tools truly are. Flame Sparks won't tell me anything apart from its name and what it is."
Jalen gave him a brief summary of all he'd learned about eternal-grade spirit tools so far. That they are beings without personhood but with a form of sentience. That they are powerful, and their goal is to make their wielders stronger.
When he was done, Tyrian was left speechless. He knew Flame Sparks was extraordinary—but this just blew his mind.
"Now, enough storytelling," Jalen said. "Go have that bath before the medicinal properties burn out."
Tyrian nodded, then he removed his tattered garments and stepped into the pool.
Warmth enveloped him instantly. Not just heat—but restoration. The kind that seeped into bone and marrow. He exhaled, sinking deeper, letting the pain unravel.
For the first time in days, he wasn't running. He wasn't fighting.
He was healing.