Chapter 2: Hidden Cave Abode
Inside a quiet cave, undisturbed for eons, the rock wall on one side rippled as a little boy stumbled through it with an outstretched hand. This was Damon, who glanced around with shining eyes. A substantial space was carved out from the stone cliff, high enough that two grown men standing on top of one another might not reach, and wide enough that a dog could run around freely without feeling cramped. A round crystalline stone was embedded in the center of the ceiling, emitting a clear, white luminous glow. Although he had never seen such a mysterious stone before, something further within the cave caught his immediate attention.
At the end of this hall-like space, there was a small pool of opalescent, yet translucent, liquid glowing with an ethereal luster. Sitting next to this pool was a worn-out skeleton, draped in strange clothing. It was too old to determine the quality or design of the cloak, but he had definitely never seen this type of material before.
A little hesitant and afraid, Damon worked up the courage to approach the skeleton, albeit slowly. When he finally arrived beside the pool, he could smell a faintly sweet aroma drifting from the glowing liquid. He reached out to touch the hood of the cloak covering the skeleton. When his fingers brushed against the fabric, the skeleton suddenly disintegrated into dust, leaving behind only three items on the ground. An archaic, leather-bound tome, the mysterious yet plain cloak, and a simple, unadorned pouch.
Alarmed by the skeleton's sudden collapse, Damon leapt back and tripped over his own feet. He stumbled and rolled around in the empty cave, causing the heavy carpet of dust on the floor to drift up in a dense shroud. Coughing, he quickly stood up in embarrassment and dusted off his clothes, now coated in grime.
Although he inherently knew that there could not possibly be anyone else here, he glanced around at his surroundings to ensure nobody witnessed his silly antics. Feeling assured that he could still maintain his dignity, he glared back at the location where the skeleton had been seated.
"Stupid skeleton, why did it have to fall when I touched it? If it were that old, why couldn't it have fallen earlier?" Damon cursed out loud. He approached the pool again and saw the three items covered in dust on the ground.
"What is this? How did the skeleton fall apart, but these things look completely fine?" Damon picked up the pouch first and hefted it in his hand. Although he could physically see and touch the bulges in the pouch, the weight was almost nonexistent in his palm. He scrutinized the pouch and probed it for a while longer before stopping. The pouch was smooth like silk, yet warm like a furry coat. He then grasped the top of the pouch and tried to pull it open, but it did not budge, no matter how hard he pulled.
"What the heck? Why won't this thing open? Did it become sealed shut because so much time has passed, just like how it is very hard to open a jar of preserved fruit after leaving it for the whole winter?" Damon was unsure if the pouch followed the same principle, but that was the only logical explanation his youthful mind could make.
Damon placed the pouch back down and then picked up the cloak. The fabric was cool to touch and very smooth, belying its current appearance as a rough and worn-out gray cloak, with no other visible markings, both inside and out. He draped it over himself and discovered that it was slightly too big for him to wear, but it might fit in a few more years. Although it had weathered the passing of time, it had a faint smoky scent.
"This cloak is quite nice to touch and wear, even if it looks so shoddy on the outside. If I run around wearing this in the village, I'll look like one of those mountain hermits that occasionally come to trade some resources." Damon smiled slightly and chuckled as he briefly envisioned a future of himself as a mountain hermit.
As he concluded his minor fantasy, he gazed down at the final item on the ground, the book. The book was bound by what looked to be leather, and it looked quite weathered. The pages were yellowed, and there was a distinctive musty smell to it. He gently picked it up, afraid it might also fall apart like the skeleton, and carefully dusted off the cover. Underneath the layer of grit, strange and ancient characters, glistening with a soft light, were revealed.
"Mother taught me how to read and write when I was younger, yet I've never seen letters that look like this before… Is it the language of a different country? Father did mention that strange countries exist far away where the people speak differently from us…" Damon scrunched up his brows and tried to make sense of the strange glyphs inscribed into the cover. Having made no headway, he decided to just open up the first page and see if he could understand anything there. A blinding light erupted the moment he opened it, causing him to yell out and hurriedly cover his eyes with his arms.
The burning pain that afflicted Damon's eyes slowly disappeared, and he finally lowered his arms to look around. He saw that the cave had disappeared, and he was within a pitch black space. He couldn't even be sure if he was standing, as he didn't feel anything under his feet, and trying to walk forward did not lead him anywhere. Just as he was starting to feel a bit anxious, he saw a figure gradually materialize before him. The blurry figure became more distinctive and soon looked like any old grandpa you could find in the village, just wearing very expensive-looking robes with a grandiose design.
"Greetings, young friend." The voice of a wise old man sounded out.
"H… Hello…?" replied Damon out loud while looking questioningly at the smiling senior.
"I am sure you are very confused and have many questions, yet I do not have the time to explain. We are currently inside a mental dimension of my creation, and the remaining energy is insufficient to have a long discussion. I did not expect it to be this long before my remains were found, but alas, I no longer have the capacity to be frustrated. I left behind this strand of memory so that I can pass along my inheritance to a suitable cultivator. Lamentably, I do not have the option to be picky anymore, so you will have to do."
The voice from earlier rang out again, but the old man's mouth did not move. Damon did not understand where it was coming from and looked around. "Who are you? Where are you speaking from? Mental dimension? Inheritance? Cultivator? I don't understand anything that you are saying," he spoke out toward the black space.
"Young friend, you need not look further. It is I, the old man in front of you, who is speaking. I am currently using my remaining power to speak directly to your mind, as otherwise, you would not understand the language of my tongue. You will understand once you start your cultivation and have awakened your Mind Node. The book you have opened is a cultivation manual I managed to develop during the final chapter of my life, prior to my demise."
"Demise? I know that word. D… Does that mean… You're a ghost?" Damon asked as a shiver ran down his spine. However, this immediately brought his thoughts to his parents. "Can you find other ghosts? Is there a chance my mother and father turned into ghosts, too?"
The old man momentarily stopped speaking as his right eyelid twitched involuntarily. He ignored Damon's words and continued with his soliloquy. "I was a prominent mind cultivator romping around the continent without any opposition. A mind cultivator is someone who learns to control the power of the mind."
Here, the old man paused and waved his hand. This caused the surrounding scenery to change into a barren wasteland.
"We are able to control solid objects with a formless force called mental power. Like so."
The old man pointed at a small mountain in the distance, upon which it started quaking violently before being slowly lifted into the air. A moment later, the old man pointed downward, causing the airborne mountain to crash down heavily with a resounding boom.
"We can also use this power to affect the minds of others, directly through psionic damage or indirectly through illusions."
The old man then clapped his hands, causing the scenery to change once again. It was now a regal and elegant hall, containing tables filled with lavish dishes and pretty ladies serving refreshments. To the side, a large ensemble was playing a pleasant tune. He clapped again, causing the surroundings to become pitch black again.
"There are no limitations to the might of the mind, except for the vastness of your imagination. Eventually, we can even turn falsity into reality. To summarize, you can think of us as people with the ability to alter reality with our thoughts."
With furrowed brows, Damon tried to make sense of the scenes that had flashed past his eyes before giving up. What just happened? What was all that? Was it real? What is this old man going on about? Can he find my mother and father or not? I've never even heard half of the words he is using! He said something about me not understanding his language. Is he currently speaking in a different tongue? Damon thought.
"I grew complacent with my strength and standing, and traveled far past the known boundaries of the charted territories. As fortune would have it, I encountered an ill-fated adversary during my travels and ended up battling for life and death."
The old man clicked his fingers this time, causing the scenery to change once more. This time, they were located above an endless mountain range, filled with tall snowy peaks. Another 'grandpa' was floating in the sky across from a large man wielding a longspear. This man seemed to be 'walking' toward him, rather than flying.
Suddenly, the scene changed rapidly, as though time had been fast-forwarded. It displayed an intense and grand battle. Swarms of swords and other weapons soared through the air, encircling the man. The man, however, was able to break through the onslaught with but a single slash of his spear's blade. He leaped toward the grandpa, swinging down his spear, creating shockwaves that pushed back the flying weapons.
The grandpa started making multiple hand seals before pointing at the man with one hand. The man abruptly bounced around in the air, as though he were a puppet being controlled by a puppeteer. The swarm of weapons encompassed the man. Once again, they were forced back by the man's swings. However, the man was obviously injured.
Such engagements went on for a while before a final clash between the man and the grandpa ensued. The grandpa gathered his hands above his head, upon which a transparent sword formed in his grasp. It looked more like a distortion in space. After the two men rushed at each other and clashed directly, the large man fell from the skies, down into the mountains below.
"Although I was able to win the battle and vanquish my foe, I was regrettably left with severe injuries to my consciousness. I quickly fled the scene in fear that a passing cultivator would notice the signs of battle, and in my haste, I was unable to recover any of my artifacts used during the combat, nor was I able to retreat to the safety of my clan."
"Sorry, Mr Grandpa, could you please explain…" Damon began to ask when he was interrupted by the old man.
"Hush, boy! Do not distract me! I spent many millennia forming the perfect deliverance, but you are testing my patience! Just wait a bit longer, as there is not much time left."
A dry rumble resounded through the space. It sounded as though the old man had cleared his throat. He continued to speak. "During my earlier travels, I had come across this misty mountain, and my investigation revealed the Mind Essence spring located within. I returned to this location as the Mindsoul dew, produced by the spring, aids in the recovery of injury to your consciousness."
This time, the scene changed to the hidden cave Damon had discovered. He saw a bloody and haggard old man sitting next to the glowing pool of opalescent liquid, drinking it in large gulps.
"Although it is not the most precious material, resources that assist mind cultivation are few and far between. Using this dew, I was able to stabilize my soul and thwart the immediate danger of death. Although unable to access my former powers, I found a means that could allow me to return to the peak of my cultivation. It was to re-cultivate the mind path using a new method."
Damon's eyes glazed over as he heard words and saw images he did not understand. His thoughts became cloudy, and his head dizzy from the sheer volume of strange images and unknown words he had just experienced. All he could do was focus on remembering one word he deemed the most important. Cultivation.
"With my previous accomplishments in cultivation, I was able to invent a brand new art that far surpassed the original manual I cultivated. It had all the benefits and with the only drawback being a slower, yet sturdier foundation. It even used simulated injuries as a stepping stone to further strengthen and boost my power. Woefully, by the time I had finished producing this art, my lifeforce had come to an end. I had to resign myself to passing this art as an inheritance as the culmination of my life's struggles and ambitions."
Damon continued to absentmindedly stare at the old man in a daze as the extensive life story unfolded before him. This was too much information for his small brain to handle, especially as there were too many mentions of topics he could not even currently fathom. He tried to open his mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted by the grandpa.
"Child, I am well aware that you did not understand most of what I have spoken, but I needed to say it for my own peace of mind. I have left behind a tome containing the cultivation art, alongside a storage pouch carrying the rest of my belongings. Although the pouch does not hold much, I am sure it will be useful for your initial foray into the cultivation world. I will also imprint a temporary mental rune on your consciousness to help you start your journey. This will take up the remaining energy, so this is where we part ways. I hope you can utilize the art I created to grow powerful enough to ascend higher than I have ever been. Although I do not insist that you call me Master, I beseech you to at least remember the following names. This cultivation art is called the Mindspire Tempering Sutra, and… the creator is… SILAS ALDEWYN!"
The voice grew increasingly louder as it got to the last sentence, and the final two words filled with pride echoed continuously in Damon's mind. He could feel a searing heat on his forehead as his surroundings grew brighter and brighter until his entire vision was filled with white light. The name Silas Aldewyn would forever be branded in a corner of his mind.