Two days later, Lloyd stirred from unconsciousness. His eyelids fluttered open, and the storm‑gray of his eyes was gone—replaced by a piercing golden glow, radiant like twin suns.
Pain surged through his body as though he had been crushed beneath a mountain. Every muscle ached, every breath was heavy. With effort, he forced himself upright, his movements slow and deliberate. Sitting up alone felt like a battle, but he endured it.
Once steady, he closed his eyes and turned inward. What he discovered left him stunned. His cultivation had leapt from the Sage Realm to the Sky Limit Realm, a breakthrough that defied every law of cultivation. Such a leap should be impossible, fatal—yet within his dantian burned a miniature sun, the newly awakened spirit core, rewriting the rules themselves. His body felt stronger, and for a moment he sensed it might have escalated even beyond the Sky Limit Realm. But his mortal frame imposed its limits, halting the ascent there.
His gaze shifted to Calen, who remained seated in deep cultivation, unmoved by the world around him. The bond he felt with the kid was so strong, it was like Calen was a part of him, and vice versa. Lloyd did not disturb him.
Drawing a deep breath, Lloyd reached into his pocket world and retrieved fresh clothing, covering his bare frame. Then he ascended from the underground chamber to the Raine Sect above.
The air was crisp, the sect alive with whispers. Patriarch Shanell and several elders awaited him, their eyes sharp with curiosity. They had felt the storm of energy, but none dared ask outright.
"Elder Lloyd," Shanell greeted, her tone measured. "You've returned."
Lloyd inclined his head, offering no explanation. The elders exchanged glances, but his silence was final. Whatever had transpired below was not for them to know.
Instead, Shanell informed him of recent events. "Spies from the Crimson Vale Sect attempted to breach our borders. We repelled them, but their persistence grows bolder."
Lloyd listened quietly. Once, the Crimson Vale Sect had been a looming threat, their patriarch a figure far beyond his reach. But now… Lloyd's gaze hardened. The Lloyd of the past was gone. His cultivation now stood equal to the Crimson Vale patriarch.
The elders saw only the Sage Realm expert they had always known. They did not yet realize the truth—that a new sovereign of light had risen in their midst.
When Lloyd finished speaking with Shanell and the elders, he was making his way back to his quarters when an outer sect elder hurried to him with news: his wife had arrived.
The moment he heard, Lloyd's heart leapt. He didn't hesitate—he went straight to meet her.
Things between them had been strained for weeks. A month and a half ago, Tera had uncovered the first wound of Lloyd's betrayal—two young women of the Raine Sect were carrying his children. When she confronted him, her questions pressed deeper, and under her relentless demand for truth, Lloyd admitted what she feared most: the pregnancies were not isolated mistakes but the latest in a long chain of infidelities that had shadowed their entire marriage. From that moment she kept her distance, wounded beyond measure. Three days later she left with the children, and in the weeks that followed, Lloyd begged her countless times, pleaded for forgiveness, and pleaded for her to return home. Each time she turned him away, her silence cut deeper than any blade.
When Lloyd saw her, his smile broke through the heaviness. His gaze softened as it fell on the three little ones beside her—Lycia, Luke, and baby Ethan.
"Daddy!" Lycia cried, running across the courtyard into his arms. Lloyd bent down, fondling her head gently, his fingers brushing through her hair with tenderness. Luke followed, laughing as Lloyd ruffled his hair and pulled him close.
Then Lloyd reached for Ethan, taking him carefully from his mother's arms. He lifted the infant high into the air, tossing him just enough to make the boy squeal with delight. Ethan's laughter rang out, pure and unrestrained, carrying across the garden like sunlight breaking through clouds. Lloyd caught him securely, holding him against his chest, his own laughter mixing with his son's.
For a moment, the tension melted. The children's joy wrapped around them all, softening the edges of pain. Lloyd's eyes glistened as he looked at them—his heart full, his mistakes momentarily forgotten in the warmth of their embrace.
Then his gaze shifted to Tera. She stood a few steps back, her posture tense, her expression guarded. She couldn't bring herself to smile, not yet. A part of her had thought that seeing him again—seeing the man she once loved with their children—might stir some warmth, might soften the wound. But instead, all she felt was the same cold disgust at his betrayal, the memory of lies that shadowed their marriage. Anger rose within her; she didn't want to be here. The only reason she had come was because the children had asked for their father. And though a part of her longed for the closeness they once shared, the wound was still fresh.
Lloyd held Ethan tighter, his voice low but sincere. "Thank you… for bringing them."
Tera's eyes flickered, a storm of emotions crossing her face. She said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes.
The children clung to their father, unaware of the fracture between their parents. In their laughter, in their innocence, there was hope—a fragile thread that might one day mend what was broken.
___
Hours later, Lloyd and his family settled into his quarters—just above where Calen now resided—the children, worn out from playing, had drifted into sleep. The quiet of the night pressed down, leaving only the tense silence between Lloyd and Tera.
Finally, Lloyd broke it. His voice was low and steady but heavy with resignation.
"Whatever you decide, I'll accept it."
He hadn't wanted to speak those words. But to beg again now would only strip him of the last shreds of his dignity, though every fiber of his being longed to fall at her feet and surrender everything for a chance at her mercy. Yet he knew to do so would be unfair to her, forcing her to bear the weight of his guilt when she had already carried enough of her own sorrow.
Tera's eyes glistened, her voice trembling.
"You're not going to fight for us anymore?"
Lloyd's jaw tightened. "You know I do. More than anything. But like you said—what right do I have? I betrayed your trust and love. More than once. And if I'm honest… I fear I'll betray you again."
Her tears fell freely now. "Why can't you just stop?"
"I tried," Lloyd admitted, his voice breaking. "I tried to be faithful for you. But the truth is… I lack the self-control to be bound to one partner. That weakness is mine, and it's destroying us."
Silence stretched, sharp and suffocating. Then Tera wiped her tears, her expression hardening even as her heart broke.
"I loved you enough to endure everything," Tera whispered, her voice trembling, "but I can't endure being betrayed again."
Perhaps it was cowardice, perhaps mercy—but if admitting his weakness freed her from the cycle of betrayal, then so be it. Better she leave him now than suffer the same wound again.
Her eyes shut tight as she gathered her resolve. When she opened them, the decision was final.
"Let's divorce."
The words pierced him deeper than any blade. Lloyd's chest tightened, his breath caught, but he forced himself to nod. Before answering, his gaze drifted to the sleeping forms of Lycia, Luke, and Ethan. Their peaceful faces twisted the knife deeper, reminding him of what he was about to lose.
"…Alright."
Her voice softened, though it carried the weight of finality. "I'll still bring the kids to see you."
Lloyd swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Alright."
He rose slowly, his movements heavy, and added quietly, "You can stay here. I'll… sleep elsewhere."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Lloyd turned away, his face hidden, but inside he was unraveling. His heart screamed to fight, to beg, to hold her until she forgave him—but his pride, his guilt, and his shame chained him down.
And so he walked away, leaving behind the woman he loved, the mother of his children, and the fragile hope that had once bound them together.