A strong citrus scent stung Zamian’s nose.
His eyelids fluttered open, the world around him blurred. The ceiling above was carved with dozens of odd, childish drawings, crude lines etched into the wood over the years.
A myriad of memories hit him up.
Jasmine’s hands steadying his own, guiding the knife.
His father laughing, calling their artwork the scribbles of a crazed forest spirit.
A chuckle slipped from Zamian’s lips.
Soft bedding cradled his body. A blanket of leaves, warm and familiar, rested over him.
He smiled. He was home.
"Zammy, wake up and eat something, darling."
A voice reached his ears—soft, warm, slightly high-pitched.
The numbness of sleep still clung to his mind, but a wave of comfort washed over him at the sound.
He turned his head toward the speaker.
A red text hovered above the man’s figure.
[LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY(IMPURE)]
Zamian didn’t react to it—didn’t need to.
He knew who it was.
Standing beside his bed, a tall, olive-skinned man held a wooden tray, balancing it effortlessly with one hand. Long white hair cascaded down his back, an elegant contrast to the rich purple silk robe draping over his frame—a color almost no one in the Sanctuary wore.
A steaming wooden cup sat on the tray beside two bowls—one filled with bright orange juice, the other with fruits and grains, arranged neatly.
Zamian’s lips curled into a grin.
"Hey, Dad."
His father, Dante Greenfield, beamed.
"Hey, darling!"
Dante crossed one leg over the other and sat at the bedside, humming an odd tune—a marching chant, slow and deliberate. His free hand moved to Zamian’s hair, brushing through it gently, fingers gliding over black strands in a soothing rhythm.
Zamian closed his eyes at the touch, a sudden tightness in his chest catching him off guard.
‘This tune…’
The melody was one his mother always hummed when things were hard and she wanted to soothe him.
Zamian felt his breath hitch, his eyes burning.
"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Dante’s nose brushed against his scalp, his tone lighthearted but edged with concern.
He took a sniff.
And scowled.
"You need a bath, Zammy. Really, must I remind you every time? You’re a grown boy!"
He punctuated the complaint with a soft kiss on his son’s head.
Zamian groaned, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Dad. It’s not that bad. You smelled worse back in the day."
"Lies and slander!" Dante gasped, feigning offense.
"I’m serious," Zamian snorted, shaking his head before reaching for the cup. He sipped the juice, savoring the refreshing burst of citrus. "...I think I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?"
His father’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable.
"Hmm, no reason. You just looked exhausted."
Zamian shrugged.
A faint headache throbbed in the back of his skull, but nothing unbearable.
"What time is it?" he asked absently, nibbling on the grains.
"Just past the last mealtime. You got home after midday," Dante answered smoothly, resting his chin on his palm. "Why do you ask?"
"I..." Zamian hesitated, the fog in his mind thickening. "...I don’t remember how I got here."
Dante’s brow lifted. "Did you get drunk?"
"Wh—no!" Zamian scoffed. "I don’t drink. You’d have me whipped."
"Not that drastic," Dante smirked. "But you’d certainly have some explaining to do."
"I don’t know, I just—" Zamian rubbed his temple, frustration creeping into his tone. "I’ll ask Bohlo later. He was with me."
"And you, Dad? How are you feeling?" Zamian asked, shifting his gaze.
His father pouted dramatically. "Oh, you know. A little worried when my sweet baby didn’t come home on time."
"Dad, I’m almost sixteen—"
"—My sweet not even sixteen-years-old baby," Dante continued, undeterred, mocking offense as he flicked Zamian’s forehead.
The younger cultivator groaned.
"And!" Dante held up a finger. "I had to ask Bohlo to go look for you. Which, might I add, I never should have needed to do. Let’s see, what else... oh! I ran out of tea, nearly lost my mind."
He snapped his fingers dramatically.
"That was a tragedy, Zammy. A true tragedy."
Zamian chuckled—until his father’s words fully registered.
His smile faded.
"You ran out of tea?"
Dante sighed wistfully, as if recalling the darkest moment of his existence.
"Yes, sweetie. It was horrifying. I had to sit there, thirsty, empty, alone."
"Dad—"
"I was but a shell of a man, waiting—longing—for his son to bring salvation—"
"Dad, focus."
"Right. Well, you already brought me some leaves, so the nightmare is over," Dante beamed, completely unbothered. "It was only one tea leaf, but it's big enough to last at least two days. Maybe three. Oh, and thank you!"
Zamian blinked.
His stomach dropped.
"I... I brought you tea?"
Zamian blinked.
A wave of confusion crashed over him, his mind struggling to grasp reality.
"Wh— I did? That vermin, what did Bohlo do to me this morning?" He laughed in exasperation. "Did that guy slip some weird plant into my food? Did he force-feed me a poisonous fruit? I don’t remember that!"
"Language, Zamian Greenfield."
His father’s voice cut through his rambling, sharp yet teasing.
"Sorry, Mom—"
The words left his mouth on instinct before he could stop them.
A chuckle.
"It's okay, sweetie," Dante said, his tone warm. "Come, let's have some tea. It's rare for me to have quality time with my son."
Humming that odd, familiar tune again, Dante stood, stretching lazily.
"You're always locked in your room, burying yourself in old books. Still so young, yet behaving like an old man."
Zamian snorted. "Says the man who stopped counting his age after one hundred years."
His father pretended not to hear that.
Following Dante out of the bedroom, Zamian stepped into the previously empty living room—only to halt mid-step.
A ceramic pot sat on a small wooden stand in the center of the room, gray smoke curling from its spout like whispering spirits.
Zamian’s eyes narrowed.
"Wow. Did you really have to use Gray’s Opaque just to make tea?" He took a step back. "That stuff is worth a month’s wages, Dad."
Dante, ever unbothered, nodded. "Uh-huh."
"Aren't those leaves, like, super hard to find too?"
"What can I say?" Dante shrugged. "You brought me a nice gift."
Zamian froze.
"I... I did?"
His mind was still struggling to grasp the situation.
"Of course. Where else would it have come from?" His father gave him a pointed look, swirling the tea inside a wooden cup. "You must’ve scammed some poor merchant, Zammy. I know you don’t have the money for it. Not after all those books you’ve been hoarding."
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"I don’t scam people."
"Then you stole it?"
A dangerous glint flickered in Dante’s eyes.
Zamian immediately stiffened.
Stealing was one of the greatest sins in their house.
His mother had once said Zamian could slaughter people in the future, but not dare to steal anything.
His father, meanwhile, had said that Zamian could only steal a woman’s heart, and that’s all.
"No," Zamian answered quickly. "No way."
"Good," Dante smirked, satisfied.
Settling next to the steaming pot, Zamian motioned to open the lid, only to have his hand slapped away.
"Ouch!" He jerked his hand back, glaring at his father.
"Patience."
"I just want to look."
"It's hot, Zammy. You could get hurt."
Zamian scoffed. "Dad, I'm an Enlightened. I can handle a little heat."
His father wasn’t convinced.
Eyeing Dante’s concerned look, Zamian sighed. He fortified his hand, channeling essence through his palm just in case, then reached for the lid again.
"See? No big deal—"
The moment he lifted it, a thick reddish smoke burst into the air, curling around his face.
The scent of fresh apples.
Memories slammed into him all at once.
His body froze.
His mind fractured into images—
Bohlo.
The Zealot.
The Cleric Chosen.
The White Dot in the corner of his vision.
Without thinking, he willed the text to appear.
STATS POINTS
Body: 15/20
Mind: 30/40
Soul (!): 08/20
(!) Your soul is injured.
NEW REWARDS
Abyssal Leaf
Description: A fallen leaf from the broken realm.
QUEST LOG
Last Quest: Get home before dinner time
Reward: Abyssal Leaf
Status: Completed
Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month
Reward: Special Physique (??)
Status: Ongoing (14 days left)
Side Quest: Fully heal your soul
Reward: Ancient Astral Seal
Status: Ongoing
As Zamian inhaled more of the red mist, pain exploded behind his eyes.
A searing spike of agony shot through his skull, spreading like wildfire.
He screamed, clutching his head, collapsing onto the floor as his body convulsed violently.
Somewhere beyond the pain, his father remained utterly still—sitting cross-legged, eyes shut, lips moving in a whisper too faint to hear.
A palpable pressure radiated from Dante, pressing down like an invisible weight. Zamian felt suffocated, as if his very essence was unraveling.
At times, the sensation was thick and swamp-like, dragging him into a slow, consuming abyss.
Other times, it was a sheer freefall—an endless plummet into the void, his heart hammering in terror.
The swirling mist slithered toward Dante, flowing into his nostrils, his eyes, his mouth. As he absorbed the crimson smoke, his muscles swelled, his skin roughened, hardening into something almost inhuman.
Zamian tried to move, to crawl closer, to do something—anything.
But his body refused to obey. Every inch of him shook violently against the floor.
"DAD! WAKE UP! DAD!"
His own voice felt distant, drowned out by the piercing, static-like hum filling his ears.
Dante didn’t respond. He just sat there, inhaling more and more of the smoke, his features shifting further, his essence changing.
And then—
Zamian’s blurry vision caught something.
The text above his father’s head flickered—shifting from red to green, morphing bit by bit, until it finally stabilized.
[LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
His father’s Pathway had changed.
Zamian barely had time to react before the remaining mist surged toward him.
It burned.
It clawed into his eyes, his mouth, his lungs—
And then the world collapsed.
A void swallowed him whole.
Suddenly, he was floating—submerged in a vast, black expanse, surrounded by motes of multicolored light.
The motes shifted and pulsed, their hues weaving a strange, mesmerizing dance.
Most were white, scattered among pale green, while others gleamed red as apples. Some flickered in shades of pink, brown, yellow, purple, and even colors beyond comprehension.
These motes moved erratically, drifting like stars caught in a silent current.
Then, they began to shift.
The lights wove together, shaping a humanoid figure encased in a dark green halo, pulsing rhythmically—like a slow heartbeat.
With each pulse, the white motes resisted, their glow unchanging, but the red motes flickered violently, sending jagged spikes of pain through Zamian’s very being.
Others, however, dimmed, their glow fading—yet instead of pain, they brought an unsettling sense of relief.
A numbness.
The green halo pulsed again.
The multicolored motes fought back.
And then, from the edge of this strange vision, a surge of red mist erupted forward—
Its color matched the red motes, seeping into the figure, twisting and spreading like ink in water.
The dimmed motes turned red.
The flickering ones stabilized.
More red appeared, consuming the green halo—until the humanoid form was nearly engulfed by it, only accompanied by traces of white and green specks of light.
And then—
The last of the red mist faded, unable to force its way further.
Zamian felt something snap.
A pull.
His eyes shot open.
The last traces of red smoke were dissipating into the air.
And in its place, a wall of white text hovered before him.
+40 Soul Points (!)
(!) Your Soul is fully healed. Expanding Soul Stat Cap → 48/48
Completed Side Quest: Fully heal your soul
Reward: Ancient Astral Seal
Status: Completed
+52 Soul Points (!)
(!) Your Soul Stat Cap has reached a milestone → 100/100
Initiating a breakthrough…
Breakthrough attempt failed (!)
(!) Please upgrade your stats.
As Zamian’s vision cleared, and he dismissed the white text, the red mist drifted lazily through the room, curling at the edges of the space as if bound by an invisible barrier.
Yet, despite the lingering haze, he felt no trace of pain.
No headache. No exhaustion.
And—most importantly—no pressure emanating from his father.
Slowly, Zamian pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly before regaining his balance. His body felt strangely light, as if he had just shed a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying.
Taking a tentative step forward, he stopped beside his father—still cross-legged, still unmoving.
Zamian carefully studied the older man.
"Cultivating. I can’t interrupt."
His father looked like himself again. The erratic changes from before were gone.
"That’s good."
He sighed in relief before turning his focus inward.
"What about me? What the blight is happening to me?"
A quiet frustration crept into his chest.
He had forgotten too much.
His father had just suffered another episode—and he had barely noticed it. That alone was enough to make his stomach twist.
Clenching his fists, he willed the White Dot to reveal his information.
STATS POINTS
Body: 15/20
Mind: 28/40
Soul (!): 100/100
NEW REWARDS
Ancient Astral Seal
Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.
Zamian’s eyes narrowed.
"A seal? Where is it? And what about the leaf?"
His gaze flicked to the empty pot, then to the faint traces of smoke curling from within.
"So, it’s all smoke now. But I’m sure that red mist healed me—and more importantly, stabilized my father."
He tapped his fingers against his arms, chest, and shoulders, searching for something—anything—that resembled a seal.
Nothing.
His fingers brushed his palm, recalling the rough texture he had felt upon completing the Side Quest to get home.
"That must’ve been the Abyssal Leaf. But this? It’s different. I don’t feel anything physical."
Zamian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
"Maybe it’s like my first reward—the one that gave me a technique. If that’s the case, it could be harder for me to find what it does. But maybe… Maybe it’s connected to that dark space.”
He dismissed the floating text and closed his eyes.
A change had happened. He was certain of it.
He had spent two years dealing with the White Dot. He knew the stats were important, even if their full meaning was still beyond his grasp.
And now—his soul was at full capacity.
Zamian’s thoughts churned as he mentally reviewed what he had learned so far.
"Body—physical condition. Ever since I started training under Father’s guidance, it’s improved from twelve to twenty. That lines up."
"Mind—something to do with cognition. The stronger it gets, the faster I cultivate, the quicker I read, the more focused I feel."
He frowned.
"But Soul… That one is different. It started at ten. It kept decreasing when I tried to cultivate. Only after I became an Enlightened did it rise to forty."
His fingers twitched.
He had always assumed that the soul was tied to cultivation. After all, every Enlightened gained a technique from Nature’s essence, storing it within themselves.
Zamian took a steadying breath.
"No point thinking in circles."
Closing his eyes, he reached inward—searching for the space he had glimpsed before.
It appeared instantly.
A void.
Dark and endless, stretching far beyond the limits of human comprehension.
And within it—a figure.
A humanoid shape, composed entirely of multicolored motes of light, swirling and shifting like stars caught in an unseen current.
Zamian stared.
‘That was easy. Too easy,’ he thought, having no physical form in this space.
He willed the motes to move.
They didn’t.
He reached toward them, trying to pull them closer—
Nothing.
Frowning, he tried to count them—only to realize there were far more than one hundred.
‘Why multicolored? My soul and essence should be green. I’m a Nature Pathway cultivator. Even if I’m an… unfaithful one.’
His lips pressed into a thin line.
‘This isn’t normal.’
Pulling himself out of the trance, Zamian exhaled deeply.
At least one thing was certain.
‘Father is stable.’
And just as that thought settled—Dante’s body shuddered.
Zamian’s breath caught in his throat.
Dante’s fingers twitched.
Then—his eyes snapped open.
For a moment, his gaze was unfocused, his expression unreadable as he blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear a haze from his mind. Then, a frown settled on his face.
Zamian immediately stepped forward, gripping his father’s shoulder.
"Are you alright, Dad?!"
His father grunted in response, his voice rough—like dry leaves scraping against stone.
"Don’t worry, kid. I feel better than ever."
Zamian hesitated before releasing him, taking a small step back, but his eyes remained sharp, watching his father’s every movement.
Dante exhaled deeply, running a hand through his already messy white hair before, without warning, he tore open the front of his robe, exposing his bare chest.
Zamian barely suppressed a tired sigh.
That was his father’s idea of reassurance.
"I don’t know how much time we have, kiddo." Dante stretched, rolling his shoulders before surveying the room. "Did I break anything this time? Blight, it sure looks like I evaporated someone’s body in here."
He chuckled—a self-deprecating, yet oddly amused sound—as his eyes scanned the lingering red mist still drifting through the space.
Shaking his head, he slapped his palm onto the wooden floor.
A dark green pulse spread outward.
Two chairs emerged from the ground, their wooden texture shifting seamlessly into shape.
Father and son took their seats.
Dante’s eyes flashed green as he stomped lightly, opening small vents on the floor. The mist coiled downward, guided by unseen currents, until a gentle wind swept the room clean.
Only when the air had cleared did Dante’s gaze settle on Zamian.
Zamian froze.
A cold sensation slithered beneath his skin—a myriad of invisible vines brushing against his very soul.
Dante winced, harrumphed, and his eyes dimmed back to brown.
Then he sighed, rubbing his temples.
"How long was my episode this time, Zamian? Had you left me alone for years?"
Zamian’s stomach dropped.
"Wh—No! No! Years?! I was here yesterday! Did you forget?!"
Dante hummed, tapping his fingers against the chair’s armrest.
"Yesterday?" he muttered, his tone thoughtful. "Hmm. I guess I lost a few more memories, kiddo. We can’t be on the same timeframe here."
Zamian’s hands clenched.
"Dad, what kind of blight are you talking about? You’re a Chosen—you should know how time passes! Don’t make me more worried than I already am!"
Dante smirked.
"Boy, seeing you this anxious and annoyed makes me feel a little better."
His bestial laugh echoed through the room.
Zamian groaned, slumping deeper into his chair.
"Did that red mist infect you with some rot?" he muttered.
Dante shrugged.
"Nothing could do that."
His tone was confident—too confident.
Then, his expression turned serious.
"But enough jokes. Do you still have that thing inside your head?"
"My super brain?"
"No, the useful and helpful one."
Zamian snorted.
The warmth in his father’s teasing eased some of his tension.
"The White Dot, yeah. We talked about this, Dad. If you’re feeling better, I can tell—"
Dante raised a hand, cutting him off.
"No talking about your mysterious gift with your unstable father, remember? The less I know, and the less anyone else knows, the better."
Zamian groaned.
"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just say whatever it is you want to say." He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "A lot has happened, and you won’t even let me talk."
Dante grinned.
"Some fathers would beat their kids for talking to them like that, you know?"
"Please, Dad." Zamian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just say it. We have a lot to cover.”
He took a deep breath.
"I met the Cleric Chosen. My soul was injured. Then I found something that stabilized you—maybe even something that can heal you. I have a trial tomorrow, and the blighted Nurture Ritual is ending soon. That’s already a lot, right?"
Dante gave him an odd look.
Then, he laughed—low and slow, like a predator about to pounce.
"Oh, kiddo. If that’s all you think there is… then you're in for a huge surprise."
Zamian’s heart skipped a beat.
"What surprise?"
Dante leaned forward, his grin stretching wide.
"Because you left two things out of that list, Zamian. And, kiddo—"
His eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"One of them makes me shudder."
