The Hans Clan's main hall had stood for centuries, its stone pillars scarred by time and cultivation auras alike. On this particular morning, the hall buzzed with restrained excitement. Boys and girls who had only known the clan as a place of rules and hierarchy were finally being acknowledged as something more.
Among them stood Zareck Hans.
He lingered near the back, hands folded inside his sleeves, posture calm to the point of invisibility. At thirteen, he was neither tall nor short, neither frail nor robust. If someone glanced his way, they would forget him a breath later. Zareck had learned long ago that this was his greatest talent.
Orphaned before memory could properly form, his parents had died when he was only two. The clan records spoke of tragedy in neat, emotionless lines. A cultivation mishap. A mission gone wrong. No one ever gave him the same answer twice.
He had his grandfather, one of the few elders whose name still carried weight when spoken. A man respected, even feared, by parts of the clan. Unfortunately, that old sod wandered more than he stayed. Years had passed since his last appearance within the city, and to most of the younger generation, Zareck was little more than a footnote.
The Hans Clan numbered in the thousands. Zareck had learned early that being part of something so large meant being very, very small.
"Still hiding, Zareck?" a familiar voice whispered beside him.
Zareck didn't turn his head. "I prefer the term strategically positioned."
Malichi Hans snorted. "Only you could stand in the shadows of your own clan hall on the most important day of your life."
Malichi was the opposite of Zareck in almost every way. Broad-shouldered, confident, and wearing robes embroidered with subtle gold threading, he carried himself like someone who had never questioned his place in the world. As the son of the current clan head, he didn't have to.
"Important days tend to attract attention," Zareck replied. "Attention tends to attract trouble."
"And trouble," Malichi said with a grin, "tends to be entertaining."
A third figure slid in between them, adjusting his slightly worn robes with exaggerated dignity. "If trouble is entertaining, then you two owe me a lifetime of amusement."
Will Keeps, branch family by blood and servant lineage by birth, smiled like someone who knew exactly where he stood, and refused to be ashamed of it. His father served the clan head directly, which placed Will in a strange position: respected by none, underestimated by all.
"Will," Malichi said, clapping him on the shoulder, "you look nervous."
"I am nervous," Will replied. "We're about to receive cultivation manuals that decide the rest of our lives."
Zareck glanced at him. "You worry too much."
Will raised an eyebrow. "You worry too little."
Before Zareck could respond, the low murmur of the hall faded. An elder stepped forward, his presence alone enough to still the hundred of restless youths. His eyes swept across them like a blade, measuring, judging.
"This year," the elder began, his voice echoing through the hall, "you will take your first step onto the path of cultivation."
Zareck felt it then. That subtle tightening in his chest. Not of fear. But Anticipation.
For the first time in a long time, Zareck Hans truly though he stood at the edge of something vast.
The gates were opening.
And whether the clan remembered him or not, he intended to walk through them.
The library was older than the main hall, its towering shelves stretching like an ancient forest of ink and jade slips. Nearly a hundred children crowded inside, their whispers bouncing softly off the carved walls before dying beneath the oppressive weight of the room.
Zareck stepped in beside Malichi and Will, his gaze instinctively lifting.
Floating above the stone floor stood an old man.
He hovered effortlessly, robes unmoving despite the lack of any visible support. His feet never touched the ground, yet he seemed as solid as the pillars themselves. Though none of the children had begun cultivating, they all knew what that sight meant.
Core Realm.
A realm spoken of in reverent tones, one that marked the boundary between ordinary cultivators and true pillars of a clan. Within the vast Hans family, only a handful had reached such heights.
Will swallowed audibly. "I think my legs just forgot how to work."
Malichi crossed his arms, trying and failing to look unimpressed. "You'll be fine. Just don't stare like you're about to kneel."
Zareck didn't respond. His eyes were sharp, focused not on the elder's power, but on the stillness of it. Power that no longer needed to announce itself.
The floating elder's eyes opened.
Silence fell instantly.
"I am Elder Grigs," he said, his voice calm yet carrying effortlessly through the vast room. "From this moment onward, you are no longer children of the Hans Clan."
A pause.
"You are disciples."
A subtle shift passed through the crowd. Spines straightened. Breaths quickened.
"The manuals you are about to receive are the foundation of our clan," Elder Grigs continued. "They are not knowledge to be traded, sold, or whispered to outsiders. Any disciple who spreads clan techniques without permission will be punished."
His gaze hardened.
"By death."
No one doubted him.
With a simple wave of his hand, thin jade slips flew from the shelves, hovering neatly before each child. They stopped precisely at chest level, as if guided by invisible threads.
Zareck reached out and caught his.
Hans Flower Technique
Orthodox Family Cultivation Manual
The jade was cool to the touch.
"This technique," Elder Grigs said, "has been cultivated by the Hans Clan for generations. Balanced. Stable. Reliable. It will guide you through your early realms and determine whether you are fit to walk further."
As the children examined their slips, a few noticed something different.
Here and there, certain disciples received jade slips that glowed slightly brighter, their inscriptions deeper, more complex. The elder gave no explanation, nor did he need to.
Malichi stared at the jade slip hovering before him. Its light was unmistakably richer than the others.
Will noticed too. "Well," he muttered, "that answers at least one question."
Malichi didn't smile this time. He simply closed his hand around the manual, his expression unreadable.
Zareck glanced down at his own slip. Plain. Orthodox. Nothing special.
Perfect.
"Return to your homes," Elder Grigs said, already turning away. "Read your manuals. Breathe them in. First hand understanding is worth more than ten lectures."
He paused at the doorway, hovering just above the threshold.
"Live instruction will begin in three days."
And with that, he was gone.
The pressure lifted. Voices returned.
Will exhaled shakily. "Three days. That's it. Three days until we either become cultivators or embarrass ourselves for life."
Malichi smirked. "Speak for yourself."
Zareck slipped the jade manual into his robes, fingers tightening briefly around it.
Three days.
For the first time, the path ahead was no longer a distant idea carved into clan law.
It was in his hands.