The temple no longer echoed with footsteps—it pulsed with ritual. Each dawn began with weaving drills beneath the obsidian slats, light qi threading through their limbs like silk spun from intention. Each dusk faded into breathwork so refined it felt like the temple itself was exhaling with them. Jalen trained without flourish; Lloyd followed without complaint. Time didn't pass—it folded. And beneath that folding, transformation bloomed.
During the first month, Lloyd's cultivation surged like a tide breaking free of restraint. By the fourth week, he reached Peak Gold Realm—his qi no longer unpredictable or wild but aligned with pulse and pattern. Radiant Pulse Weave no longer fractures upon use. It flowed. In battle drills, Lloyd's movements adapted mid-strike, bending with tempo and returning like breath from a deeper chest. Jalen never praised him aloud, but the silence after each drill grew heavier. And Lloyd understood: that was approval.
By the sixth week, Diamond Realm broke open inside him. It wasn't elegant. It cracked his bones, flooded his meridians, and stretched his dantian to screaming capacity. The breakthrough left him breathless, a film of pale qi burning against his skin for hours. But when it receded, he was steadier. Seven light techniques responded now—not with grace, but with grit. Each one a tool—not a symbol. Not a dream.
Meanwhile, Jalen's advancement wasn't visible. It was elemental. By the second moon, he had mastered five more skills of the fifteen inherited forms. Mastery didn't mean repetition—it meant invocation without thought.
When he moved, the techniques shimmered in ambient qi:
The sixth—Piercing Ray Spiral—channeled light qi into a spiraling projectile. It drilled through defenses with pinpoint precision, destabilizing formations and leaving behind a trail of fractured essence.
The seventh—Solar Pulse—fired a concentrated beam of light qi, straight and unrelenting. It overwhelmed barriers and left scorched lines across the battlefield, a testament to its raw intensity.
The eighth—Light Bell—emitted a soft pulse of healing light. It's basically self-healing technique—one that could restore his own vitality in battle. But it came with limits.
It could only be activated at least three times per day, and each use drained his core more than the last. The first activation restored 80% of his strength, knitting flesh and stabilizing qi flow. The second restored 40%, slower and less precise. A third attempt, if forced, would yield only 20%—and only if his qi reserves were high enough to sustain it.
It wasn't a crutch. It was a gamble. A lifeline drawn from discipline, not desperation.
The ninth—Flash—was a weapon of disruption. A blinding burst of light that stunned opponents and fractured their spirit sense. During a solo drill, Jalen ignited the technique mid-spin, scattering the leaves around him and momentarily blinding Lloyd, who had been watching too closely.
"You blinked," Jalen said, not unkindly. "That's all it takes."
The tenth—Radiant Bastion—summoned a defensive wall of solidified light qi. It rose in silence and held firm against elemental pressure. It didn't shimmer. It didn't hum. It simply stood.
These weren't just abilities. They were architecture—each one layered atop the last, shaping him into something beyond mortal brilliance.
Lloyd had questions, of course. But they stayed inside his chest—filed for a future when he might be worthy to ask.
Near the third month's final days, Lloyd sat beneath the temple's central light well—a carved basin of spirit stone designed to funnel ambient qi into vertical harmony. His breath slowed. His mind stilled. And the Garden of Tranquility came for him.
No glyphs. No ritual. It simply unfolded.
Mist curled around his knees. Then lightning fell.
Not once.
But again. Again. Again.
Jalen's Garden trial had brought memory and storm. Jaquan's sorrow and surrender.
Lloyd's?
It brought identity.
He saw himself. Not in glory. Not in victory. But in fracture.
He felt every betrayal. Every abandonment. He saw his mother's corpse—again. He heard the laughter of those who cast him out. Those who mock him. Saw the look in her eyes when she told him she never truly loved him.
His body burned.
But his Light Physique endured.
Barely.
His skin blistered. His marrow screamed. For three days, radiant fire kissed every inch of his spirit core. He didn't deflect it. Didn't retaliate.
He endured.
And when the final bolt descended—a straight line of judgment, not wrath—he didn't kneel.
He stood.
The garden trial had ended. He returned enlightened.
His aura didn't shine—it whispered. It no longer needed to declare itself. It simply was. A presence, not a performance.
Afterward, he soaked in the pond beneath the silver-leafed trees, letting the mineral-rich waters soothe his aching body. His qi flowed slowly, like mist through cracked stone. He didn't rush it. He let the silence settle.
Then Jalen summoned him.
"It's time for us to separate," Jalen said.
Lloyd blinked. He wanted to ask why. Wanted to say he didn't want to. It had been a long time since he'd had a companion—someone he could almost call a friend. And though Jalen was antisocial, distant, and often unreadable, Lloyd had come to value his presence. Not for warmth, but for its steadiness. With Jalen around, he wasn't alone.
Jalen caught the shift in Lloyd's expression—the flicker of emotion he thought he'd hidden well.
"This isn't goodbye," Jalen said. "We're just separating for a while. If I keep guiding you, I won't master the final five forms in time. And if I don't… you'll lose the chance to inherit a supreme light spirit weapon."
Lloyd chuckled. "I know that."
It was a lie.
Jalen didn't call him out. He just patted Lloyd's shoulder and said, "Come. Let's have a drink."
That night, they sat beneath the old tree near the edge of the sub-realm, drinking the bitter alcohol Jalen brewed himself. No words passed. No stories. Just qi resting between them like coiled mist.
The stars above flickered faintly, as if watching.
___
By dawn, they sparred.
Lloyd lost.
Not badly. But clearly.
Jalen didn't gloat. He didn't offer advice. He simply nodded once, then turned toward the edge of the sub-realm's atmospheric barrier.
"Don't do anything foolish while you're out," Jalen said. "And if you meet someone you can't beat—run."
That was it.
No speech.
Just precision.
They flew in silence. Jalen's Breath Like Dust technique shimmered faintly around them, warding off the barrier's reactive pressure—a veil of protection drawn from mastery, not force.
At the threshold, Lloyd bowed low.
Jalen nodded once.
Then turned without ceremony and re-entered the sub-realm.
Lloyd watched him go.
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was full. Full of everything they hadn't said. Everything they didn't need to.
For a long moment, Lloyd remained suspended in the sky, gaze fixed on the vastness ahead. He was no longer sheltered by Jalen's presence or the resonance of the temple.
He was alone.