Varian stirred as consciousness returned, his eyes fluttering open. But instead of his quarters, he found himself in an endless white expanse. He shot up to his feet, his pain all but forgotten.

  Where.. am I?

  Varian tried to speak, but no sound came out of his lips. His eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—to ground him. Then, he saw it. At the edge of his vision, a flash of gold appeared, expanding as it rushed toward him.

  Varian turned to run but froze, startled by what he saw beneath him—nothing but endless white. He hesitantly took a step, and when the 'ground' held firm, he broke into a sprint.

  No matter how fast he ran, the white around him shifted into a rich, luminous gold.

  Suddenly, a figure appeared before him, floating rather than standing. Its features were indistinct, vaguely humanoid, yet Varian felt certain this.. apparition was far from human.

  It regarded him inquisitively, its head tilting at him as if the motion were one unfamiliar to it.

  A finger stretched toward him, its shape rippling and shifting like liquid. Varian wanted to back away, to scream and run, but his body refused to obey.

  Varian didn’t hear the words so much as feel them forcing their way into his skull, the agony sending him reeling.

  Not... yet… Too… Early... TOO... EARLY…!

  Varian’s world faded to black once more.

  Varian shot up, cold sweat clinging to his skin. His eyes darted around the room, the familiar surroundings grounding him. A nagging sense of forgetting something important lingered, but he chose not to dwell on it.

  His head throbbed with pain, a reminder of the blow Lucas had landed when he snuck up on him. Memories surged unbidden, the final moments of the spar flashing through his mind.

  Varian gritted his teeth, frustration burning hot in his chest. Two sharp knocks at the door shattered his reverie. Varian’s eyes widened upon seeing who entered.

  Grey eyes stared at him, steely yet with a gentle light to them. Long grey hair was bundled into a neat bun. White robes with but a hint of grey at the collar were wrapped around the figure tightly.

  Standing in the doorway was none other than Custodian August, his foster father and one of the three outer sect custodians of the Swooping Swallow Sect.

  “Varian,” his father said, his calm tone and inscrutable gaze leaving Varian unsure of what to expect. Would his father be disappointed?

  They stood in silence, the unspoken tension hanging heavy, until his father’s face softened into a gentle smile. “I’ve missed you, my boy,” he said, his voice warm and steady. Emotion surged within Varian, spilling over as he let out a choked sob. ‘I’ve missed you too, Dad...’ he managed, his voice trembling.

  His father pulled him into a warm embrace, and Varian melted into it, tears flowing freely. Minutes passed in relative silence as his father gently patted his back.

  “Now, now, Varian, haven’t you cried enough?” his father said, his tone both doting and lightly chiding. Varian nodded in quiet agreement. The steel returned to August’s gaze, his tone sharpening with focus. ‘Tell me, son, what exactly happened?’ he asked.

  Varian began with Lucas’ challenge and recounted everything in detail—from the start of the fight to his realization about Lucas’ enhanced state. When Varian mentioned Lucas blindsiding him, a flash of barely concealed anger crossed August’s eyes, though he quickly tempered it.

  I’m sorry, son. This is my fault,’ August confessed. Varian blinked, confusion written across his face. How could it be your fault? It’s not like you encouraged him or anything,’ he said, confusion lacing his voice.

  August chuckled. “No, I certainly didn’t. But it’s my fault all the same. I can see you’re confused—let me explain,” he said with a calming smile.

  Politics exist even among cultivators, just like in the mortal world,” August began patiently. “Everyone is striving for the unattainable—the insurmountable peak. Eternity. But resources are scarce. Even here, our sect doesn’t have a monopoly on cultivation resources. Two other sects hold as much influence as we do.”

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  Varian remained silent, knowing he’d get the answers to his burning questions soon enough.

  August took a deep breath before continuing, “They don’t matter right now. What does matter is that within our sect, factions exist. Not everyone agrees on how resources should be allocated or who should receive them.”

  He sighed deeply, the air leaving his lungs as though it carried his strength away.

  “Think, Varian. How could Lucas have possibly gotten access to a pill like that? Sure, he might have stolen it. But I’ve been watching. He’s a cowardly child, unfit for true struggle. No—someone gave him that pill. And they did it with one purpose: to harm you,” he concluded, anger seeping into his voice.

  Varian struggled to find the words, his mind reeling from the revelations.

  “I truly am sorry for not warning you ahead of time,” August said, his tone heavy with regret. “I never thought they’d stoop so low as to target children just to hurt me, even if you are my child.” He paused, his gaze softening. “I had hoped the struggle would make you stronger. In a way, I wasn’t wrong,” he added with a small, wistful smile. “I’ve heard your friends boast about your skill with the staff, of all weapons,” he teased.

  Varian flushed. ‘Oh, come on. You already knew that—you’ve been watching over me, remember?’ He shot back with a grin.

  His father arched a brow. “Oh? Four years away, and suddenly you’ve grown a sharp tongue?” he teased.

  Laughter echoed between them, easing the tension. For now, at least, Varian’s worries drifted to the back of his mind.

  Their laughter eventually died down. Varian decided now was as good a time as any to ask what was on his mind.

  “What will happen to Lucas? He crossed the line—will he be punished?” Varian asked, his fists clenched and anger simmering beneath his words.

  His father frowned at that. “Varian, control your temper. What Lucas did was unforgivable, and my anger burns as fiercely as yours. But don’t let it consume you—you’re better than that, better than him. Yes, he will be punished. If he had won, your protests would have been dismissed as nothing more than childish bitterness,” August said, pouring tea for them both.

  “Your victory enraged Lucas, and in his fury, he acted recklessly. For that, he will likely face exile,’ August said, his voice grave.

  Varian’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss.

  “Consider this a lenient punishment. Without my intervention, the enforcement hall would have dealt with him far more severely. Crimes between servant disciples do not weigh as heavily, but he would have likely been imprisoned for quite a long time.” He sighed, the warmth of the tea momentarily cooling his anger, before turning to Varian, waiting for his response.

  “Why defend him...?” Varian muttered, his voice trailing off before he recalled his father’s earlier words. He straightened and clarified, “I mean, why let him off so easily? Don’t you feel angry too?”

  August set his cup down with deliberate care, the steam curling upward in lazy spirals, momentarily catching the light peering through the window. “Angry? Of course—just not at Lucas. His actions were those of a coward, but his cowardice is nothing compared to the one who chose to feed a mortal child a pill meant for cultivators. They are the true target of my ire”.

  “There will be an investigation, and I’ll see to it personally. Though I’m merely an outer sect custodian, I still have friends in high places—friends who have fared better than I,” August said, his voice tinged with wistfulness.

  Varian nodded, his thoughts swirling as he processed everything. August’s sharp clap jolted him from his reverie. “Rest now, boy,” he commanded, his tone steady and serious. “You’ve only been asleep for a night, but you’ll need more rest if you want that arm healed in time for the awakening ceremony.”

  Varian furrowed his brows, the dull ache in his arm suddenly sharpening into a fiery throb. The realization hit him like a blow—his arm was likely broken. He clenched his teeth, swallowing the scream that threatened to escape.

  “Son, focus. Breathe deeply,” August said, his voice steady and grounding. Varian followed his father’s measured rhythm, the deep breaths helping to dull the edge of his pain. “I had one of our alchemists take a look at it. It wasn’t easy—or cheap—but your arm will heal in time for the ceremony,” August assured him, his tone firm. “That is, of course, contingent on you actually resting as you should.”

  Varian flushed in light embarrassment, knowing his thoughts were understood immediately. “Stay here until you’re fully healed,” August continued. “Meditate, study the scrolls, do whatever you like—but no training. If you can manage that, I’ll personally train you for the ceremony.” A sly grin played on his lips, as if daring Varian to disobey.

  “But I thought you weren’t allowed to show me favoritism beyond a certain extent. Surely the healing is already above that threshold?”

  August shook his head gently, loose strands dancing over his aged face. “I’m simply a father protecting his child—who, might I add, almost died. Let the old codgers grumble if they must; they’ll grant me this much.” With a playful wink, he gestured to the tea. “Now, drink up before it gets cold.” With that, he left Varian to his thoughts.

  Varian chuckled at that before wincing slightly, his arm throbbing in pain. His father’s care for him warmed his heart, and more than ever, the conviction to be a cultivator burned bright in his chest. For now, though, he’d do as the old man instructed and rest. The path ahead of him would be no easy one, if this event was any indicator, and Varian would be ready.