Gen sat alone in the middle of a ring of jagged rocks, sealed in a lotus position. A deep, cold ache had settled in his chest, a physical echo of the encounter with Buqu. He had been seated like this for a day already, speaking to no one, wanting to see no one.
Meeting Buqu had been a stark, brutal reminder of how truly impossible his quest was. He was just sixteen-year-old Gen. He had gotten stronger with time. He could contest with the apex of his generation—Juo Shi, Li Zhan, and the others. Yet, in front of Buqu, he had understood what it meant to be small again. To be an insect staring up at a mountain that was also a god. It was humbling in the most devastating way.
I need to get stronger. Stronger. Stronger. He repeated it like a mantra, his fists bailed so tight his nails bit into his palms.
Then, Gen felt his sight darken, as if the world had blackened. Not to blindness, but to an inner void. In that space, he saw the familiar alter ego. This time, it was not a shadowy black figure like in the Tower of Wonder. It was a version of him made of condensed, ambient light that shone starkly bright in the mental darkness, yet it held that same, unmistakable sharp edge to its smile.
"Here we are again, my dear self. How does it feel?"
Gen cursed internally. I did not call for you. Get out of my head.
The alter ego smiled, a flash of cold light. It casually jumped to sit on the mental projection of the rock where Gen was leaning. From above, it leaned back, looking down at him. "You know, it is so simple to get what you want. I do not understand why you hesitate."
Gen fell silent in his own mind. He thought back to the Tower of Wonder. He had believed he passed the test by accepting the dark reflection but not giving in to its temptation. But he had still failed to banish it. Now it was coming again, haunting him with power that was not his. What was the meaning of this? What did it truly mean to pass this test?
"Get out of my head," Gen repeated, his mental voice weaker.
The alter ego's smile widened. "Just look at how pitiful this simple Divine General made you feel. You are Gen Jiang. Come on. The son of the Immortal. Can you not see that?"
Gen's heart skipped a beat. The alter ego was not entirely wrong. After all, he was the son of the strongest in their world. Perhaps… perhaps he just had to work harder. He gritted his teeth. "I will be better. I will be stronger."
The alter ego smiled, as if it knew Gen had still not understood the core problem. Then it vanished, its final words a whisper in the fading dark. "We will meet again..."
The void receded. Gen was back in the rocky clearing, breathing heavily, the cold sweat of the mental encounter mixing with the chill of his despair.
A faint ripple in the air beside him. Shelai popped into existence, her form translucent and shimmering. She didn't look at him, her ancient eyes gazing into the golden distance. "Buqu came because of my presence," she said, her voice a soft chime of regret. "I am sorry."
Gen didn't open his eyes, still shaken. "It is fine," he said, his voice rougher than before. "I needed it. To be reset back on track."
"Do not be too hard on yourself," Shelai murmured. "You have made incredible progress in this short period. I will help you train to the best of my abilities. But before we start, you need to get used to my essence in your Qi. It will not be… comfortable."
Gen nodded, his jaw set. He contracted his muscles, steeling himself. "I will endure any pain to get stronger. Anything."
At that moment, he felt it—a subtle, dark pressure at the edge of his mind. A familiar, seductive whisper from the shadow-self that lived in the cracks of his will. *I can get you stronger. Now. Right now.*
The temptation was a physical pull. To just answer that voice, to rush headlong into that promised power, to find a way to commune with that alter-ego… The frustration and helplessness made it feel like the only sane choice.
Yet, the image of his father flashed in his mind—not the furious immortal battling the sky, but the calm, serene man from a quiet night, smiling with a sadness that held the world. The memory was an anchor.
Before Gen could wrestle with the thought further, a voice, soft and hesitant, echoed from below the rock outcrop.
"Gen? Are you here?"
Gen frowned, his eyes snapping open. "I said I wanted to be alone."
Lorel flinched slightly at the harshness in his voice. She could hear the pain, the frustration, the raw edge in it. Despite the rejection, she steadied herself. "You have been alone for a day," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I just wanted to check on you."
"I do not care," Gen said, turning his face away, looking at the stark rocks.
Lorel sighed. The sound was heavy with a disappointment she tried to hide. "I will leave, then."
She turned to go, her own fists bailing. *After all,* she thought, the old, familiar hurt rising, *I came to this place after hearing rumors of the Zenith Sky Root. Then I learned about you and all that had happened. I thought… I thought I could be of help. That after all we had been through in the Forgotten Realm, you might want to see me. At least a little.* But she was wrong. Gen Jiang had not changed. He was still that arrogant, wounded boy who—
"Your clothes are dirty."
The words were almost inaudible, muttered to the rocks. It wasn't much. It wasn't clear. But it was an acknowledgment. He hadn't asked her to stay in the usual way, but he had noted her presence.
Lorel stopped. She looked down at her travel-stained robes, smudged with moss and silvery dust from the Spirit Isle and the frantic journey. "We have been through some problems on our way here," she said, her back still to him.
Gen was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I would like to hear the story."
In his mind, he realized Lorel was probably the only person who could understand the hollow, pressurized feeling in his chest. She had been with him when they lost Duo Yi. She had been there when they faced the Divine General. She had seen him in his darkest hour and had stayed. He was somehow looking for that comfort again, but was too proud, too scared to ask for it outright. After all, back then, it had been circumstance, intense shared emotion that had brought them closer. What if this time he was wrong? What if she saw only weakness?
While all of this churned in his mind, he hadn't noticed Lorel turn back. She didn't ask for permission. She simply walked over, brushed a bit of gravel from a flat rock beside him, and took a seat. A genuine, shy smile touched her lips.
Then she began to tell the story.
She told him of the Spirit Isle, the silver trees and the mournful bubbles. She spoke of Chubbs's loyalty and his new white hair, her voice catching. She told him of Lilia's venom and the creeping panic of the trapped cultivators. She spoke of Ning. Her voice grew quiet, reverent, as she described his final stand, his smile, his last message for Master Suki. She did not shy away from her own moment of paralysis, her fear of failing everyone.
Gen listened. Really listened. Not just to the words, but to the cadence of her voice. He found himself watching the way her lips moved, how her smile would briefly brighten before dimming with sorrow, the faint pink that tinged the tips of her ears when she spoke of his own father's legacy. He noticed things the Gen of last year would never have paid any attention to.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Lorel suddenly asked, noticing his intense gaze fixed on her face.
Gen smiled, an awkward, lopsided thing. "Nothing," he said, and let himself lean back against the sun-warmed rock.
Together, the duo leaned against the rock, mere inches from each other, looking out at the vast, uncaring expanse of the Sky Ocean. Although they had no physical contact, the distance between them felt almost nonexistent in the quiet murmur of their shared space. They chatted about everything and nothing—the strange taste of the air here, the absurdity of Kang Mao's perpetual frown, a funny memory of Liang trying to cook. The Divine General was gone. The looming quest was gone. All that was left was the sound of Lorel's voice, steady and clear.
Slowly, the relentless tension in Gen's shoulders began to ease. His head, heavy with turbulent thoughts, nodded forward. Almost without realizing it, he slid slightly to the side, his temple coming to rest against the curve of Lorel's shoulder.
Lorel panicked for a split second, her body going rigid. But she did not move. She did not pull away.
In her heart, a warm, quiet feeling blossomed. Because although Gen wasn't saying it, they *had* gotten closer ever since the Sky Ocean began. There was this calm, soothing presence they brought to each other in these tense moments. It was the reason Gen had allowed her to stay and not the others.
A bright, private smile flashed on her lips, unseen by him.
They simply sat like that for a long time, two small figures against the immensity of the golden void, sharing silence and a single point of contact, enough to keep the crushing weight of the world at bay, if only for a little while.