Jalen stood before Emperor Simon inside the Flare Palace throne room, his aura calm yet commanding. Beside him lingered a figure cloaked in shadow—the upper cultivator who had once threatened the Flare State and was now bound by Jalen. His eyes were sharp, his presence dangerous, but the faint green mark glowing on his chest betrayed the chains of the master‑slave pact.
"Father-in-law," Jalen bowed respectfully. "This is Dimitri. He will serve as a state's guardian from this day forward. His strength is considerable, and though his nature is venomous, he is bound to my will. He will not betray you."
Simon's gaze swept over Dimitri, measuring him with the calm authority of a ruler. "Let it be as you say, son-in-law."
Jalen then turned to Dimitri. "Be on your best behavior from now on and do whatever my father in law said."
"As if I have a choice?" Dimitri snorted. Who would have thought a mighty Upper Realm cultivator would be reduced to a guard dog in a lower realm state, chained by a weakling emperor at the peak of the Immortal Realm? The humiliation was unbearable, yet he would endure it—for now. There had to be a way out of this, and when he found it, he would make that brat pay tenfold for the disgrace.
But even as the thought formed, agony lanced through his spirit sea. The chains pulsed, punishing his defiance. Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth, a bitter reminder that rebellion—even imagined—was forbidden.
Jalen dismissed Dimitri with a flick of his hand and remained behind to share a drink with his father‑in‑law. As the wine flowed, Simon questioned him about his well-being and about his daughter Rana. Jalen gave a response that satisfied him, then returned the courtesy by checking on Simon's own well-being and asking about his mother-in-law, whom he had not seen since returning. Simon explained that Jana was away in a pocket realm, exploring and cultivating.
The conversation soon shifted. Simon spoke of the pressures of ruling a continent—the constant vigilance against enemy states, spies from the Solar Clan and the Raven State, and the endless demands of leadership. Jalen listened, unmoved. At his realm, such squabbles no longer stirred him. With the Flare State undeniably the strongest in the lower realm and himself at its helm, any attack would be suicide. Still, out of courtesy and respect for his father‑in‑law, he showed concern and offered advice where he could, his words steady and reassuring.
Eventually, he left the throne room and went to spend time with his younger siblings and Lloyd's children. They crowded around him, fighting playfully—some shouting "Big Brother" and others crying "Uncle." Their laughter echoed through the halls, a sound that warmed Jalen's heart and brought a smile to his face.
The scene reminded him of Jared and Jael, who had once quarreled for his attention in the same way. And just like then, when their squabbles grew too loud, he calmed them with a gentle touch, settling them into peaceful sleep with a smile.
____
The next day, he met with his disciples—Calen and Nate—and his relatives Tyrian and Frost. The four stood with commanding presence, yet even they fell silent beneath Jalen's gaze.
"Master," Nate and Calen bowed.
"Ancestor," Tyrian greeted.
"Little brother," Frost said with quiet respect.
Jalen's expression softened. "Let's have a drink."
They agreed, and together they found a quiet corner of the palace. A servant brought wine, and the five settled there, cups in hand. At first, there was no chatter—only the sound of pouring and the faint clink of cups. They drank in silence, each lost in thought, the weight of cultivation and looming threats pressing upon them.
By the tenth round of drinking, Jalen rose, his aura steady, his voice calm but edged with steel.
"You four have reached heights few in this world can match," he said. "But do not grow complacent. The Upper Realm watches, and one day confrontation will be inevitable. When that day comes, strength alone will decide survival. Go—seek opportunities, temper your cultivation, and rise beyond your current limits."
The words struck like a decree. Determination flared in their eyes.
For a moment, Jalen lingered, his gaze sweeping over them. He remembered the days he had first met each of them. Frost—once an enemy, now a steadfast friend. Tyrian—the great‑great‑great‑grandson of his cousin, Jalen's first cousin five times removed, carrying the family's legacy with quiet pride. Jalen had rescued him from enemies who sought to destroy him.
Nate—a boy marked by tragedy, bullied by those who should have cherished him. Jalen recalled the day in the street when Nate had chased after him, begging to become his disciple, and the long years of travel and teaching that followed.
And Calen, whose fate mirrored Nate's. Bullied, nearly killed, his mother was forced into battles she should never have faced. Jalen had stepped into his life and changed his path forever. Calen was the disciple he had spent the most time training with, the one closest to his heart. And like Nate, almost a son to him.
Now they stood before him as pillars of strength, yet Jalen knew the path ahead would demand even more.
"Remember," he added, his tone softer now, "our bonds are our shield. Alone, even the strongest can fall. Together, we can endure whatever this life sends against us."
The disciples and kin bowed, their resolve deepened. Then, one by one, they departed to pursue the paths Jalen had set before them, leaving the quiet corner filled only with the lingering scent of wine and the echo of his words.
____
Jalen spent another day at the palace to ensure matters flowed smoothly before leaving with Raja. Amaryllis remained behind, entrusted to a master who would guide her in cultivation, giving her a chance to grow at her own pace.
The Hewitt capital faded behind them as father and son soared toward the horizon. Their journey was not a short excursion but a pilgrimage across continents neither Jalen nor Raja had ever seen. They crossed oceans shimmering with spirit‑qi currents, scaled mountains whose peaks pierced the heavens, and wandered deserts where the sands whispered of battles fought long ago. Everywhere they went, relics of ancient cultivators awaited—treasures, cultivation methods, and fragments of wisdom left behind by those who had walked the path before them.
Raja absorbed what was beneficial and left what was not useful behind for future cultivators. He stumbled in trials, confronted with the mysteries of ancient formations, but Jalen never shielded him from hardship. He guided, corrected, and occasionally intervened when death loomed too close, yet he allowed Raja to bleed, to struggle, to grow.
Through ruins, marshes, and storm‑ridden plateaus, Raja tempered himself. He learned to synchronize shadow and flame beyond his former limits, broke through illusions of fear and failure, and endured storms of lightning until he could channel their destructive force into strength. Each trial carved away the boyish eagerness, replacing it with the calm confidence of a cultivator forged by hardship.