The world had turned cold—but not in the elemental sense.
Jalen staggered into a cavern hidden beneath a collapsed ridge, deep underground. Light didn't reach here. No flame qi lingered. No cultivator scent. Just silence—and ancient stone. He chose it not for comfort, but out of necessity. His body trembled with exhaustion, his veins cracked beneath the weight of too many battles, and his spirit cores screamed for rest.
Jael, tucked against his shoulder, peeked up as his caretaker sank onto a flat slab of rock. The boy's blue eyes—clear, alert, and full of worry—stared at Jalen's bloodied robes and bruised skin.
Jalen noticed the kid's concern and raised a hand and gently patted the child's fluffy hair.
"Don't worry," he whispered, voice ragged. "I'll be alright."
That rare smile—crooked, barely held—appeared. It surprised Jael.
The young dragon immediately brightened and lunged at Jalen, wrapping tiny arms around his chest. Jalen winced—the pain of broken ribs screamed—but he didn't stop him. He endured the warmth.
They stayed like that awhile.
And when Jael finally slept curled beside him, Jalen exhaled long and slow.
Now it's time to restore himself to a hundred percent.
But before he can heal any wounds or fix bones, Jalen has to restore his qi first. His two cores had nearly burnt out, barely stabilized, and were flickering. Hence why he's unable to use Light Bell at the moment. He didn't even have time to use it in the fight.
He sat in lotus position and initiated the long process of recovery. Breath by breath, pulse by pulse. For two whole months, Jalen cycled energy through his fractured meridians and coaxed his body back from the brink.
During this time, the realm around them occasionally shifted. Spatial tears dragged them into minor zones—uninhabited pockets of the dimension with dormant qi—but Jalen adapted, grounding himself each time they moved.
No cultivator found him. No beasts dared approach. In his isolation, he grew steady again.
__
One month later, while skimming the edges of a glacier valley in a newly shifted realm, Jalen felt it—a ripple buried beneath layers of frost. It called to him faintly, a Sky Limit Realm cultivator remnant.
He followed the pulse and broke through an ancient seal buried inside a mountain hollow, revealing an inheritance chamber laced with frozen techniques, ice-laced murals, and herb vaults coated in crystal frost.
Inside, an echoing voice from a long-deceased ice cultivator guided him. The chamber demanded one thing: mastery.
Though Ice Qi already pulsed through his second core—gifted by the dragon fusion—Jalen had never trained it. The energy was there, but raw. Untamed. These techniques weren't familiar—they were foreign, demanding discipline beyond instinct.
It offered ten techniques—eight offensive and two defensive.
Jalen accepted and began training. And bit by bit, the techniques carved themselves into his body.
Technique number one: Ice Age—Half-mile frost domain. Strengthens all ice-based attacks. Snowflake Barrage wears down enemy qi.
Second technique: Nil—life-threatening. Body temperature drops below zero. Anything touched turns to ice.
The third technique: Winter Rend—Launches three crescent blades of ice from fingertips. Cuts through spiritual armor with precision.
The fourth technique: Glacial Surge—unleashes a wave of frost qi from the ground, freezing terrain mid-battle.
The fifth technique: Fractured Echo—Creates mirrored icicle illusions that mimic attacks and confuse enemies.
The sixth technique: Cryo Lance Spiral—Summons a rotating ice spear infused with qi that detonates after impact.
The seventh technique: Tundra Scatter—Fires rapid shards of ice in a wide cone. Excellent for crowd control.
The eighth technique: Blizzard Coil—Forms a vortex of whirling snow that traps enemies and suppresses movement.
The ninth technique: Ice Wall—A fifty-inch-thick barrier of condensed frost qi. Resistant to most physical and low-level elemental attacks.
The tenth technique: Ice Skin—A defensive layer of qi-frost that wraps around Jalen's skin, absorbing blows and elemental strikes.
Jael watched every move.
Jalen wasn't trying to teach him—at first. But the child mimicked his motions, practiced stances, and echoed breathing rhythms. Eventually, Jalen gave in and guided the boy with gentler versions of each form.
To his shock, Jael learned fast.
Too fast.
Over seven months, Jael didn't just learn the techniques—he adapted them. Though his realm hadn't caught up to Jalen's, his ice core stabilized quickly. The boy now appeared around two plus years old, but in truth, he was a year and two weeks old—his draconic blood accelerated his growth. His aura felt ancient, a remnant of the five hundred years he spent sealed within his egg before the Origin Shard awakened him. Despite his youth, he had already reached the Peak Star Realm.
He wasn't able to fully weaponize the more dangerous techniques like NilorCryo Lance Spiral just yet—but the child handled every other attack with uncanny grace.
More surprising?
He started speaking.
In broken words at first—but clear enough. He called Jalen "Dad" one morning after training.
Jalen froze mid-movement.
"…I'm not your—" he started. But Jael tilted his head and repeated, smiling.
Eventually, Jalen stopped correcting him.
It didn't feel wrong anymore.
No spirit tool waited at the end of their training. No divine blade or khopesh forged in heaven. But they received something valuable:
A vault opened with rare ice herbs, the same breed Jalen had once discovered at Jael's birthplace.
He gathered them for later alchemy, feeling their cool energy pulse through his fingers.
For a few final days, Jalen played with Jael beneath the icy-blue glow of the underground chamber's spirit crystals. They chased flickers of light, made games of energy spheres, and shared silence during moments of peace. Jael giggled often. Jalen didn't—but his shoulders lightened.
They meditated together, bathed in frost-fed pools, and slept like lion cubs curled in quiet warmth.
And sometimes, in the stillness between training and sleep, Jalen's thoughts drifted—not to battles or beasts, but to Jared. His younger brother. The boy should be about one year, nine months and two weeks now. Walking, talking, probably causing more chaos in the Flare estate.
And the twins… they must be around six months old now." . He hadn't seen their faces. Hadn't heard their cries. But he anticipated meeting them soon.
A part of him longed to return. To hold them. To know them. But another part feared what his presence might bring—enemies, chaos, the weight of his reputation. He had killed heirs, obtained rare treasures, bonded with a dragon. He was wanted by numerous sects and royal families across the Reign Continent.
If he returned now, would he bring danger to the doorstep of the very people he wanted to protect? So he stayed in the frost, training, healing, preparing. For them.
Then one evening, when they were racing snow flurries outside the chamber's entrance, the realm twisted once more.
The ice inheritance vanished.