Prologue. The House Where Everything Is Right

  At ten, Arden Lunveyr looked like someone already used to responsibility—without fully understanding what that truly meant.

  He was taller than most boys his age, lean, with a straight back and the habit of holding his chin a touch higher than modesty required. His face was still a child’s, but his eyes were attentive—sharp, as if he were constantly measuring something inside himself. His dark hair usually lay neat, because he couldn’t stand disorder. Not out of vanity—out of a conviction that order began with the smallest things.

  He woke up on his own.

  That mattered.

  In the Lunveyr house, no one shouted in the morning. No one knocked on doors. But Arden didn’t like being woken—there was something in it that reminded him of dependence.

  He sat up and looked around the room. Everything was where it belonged: folded clothes, a wooden sword by the wall, a low table with yesterday’s book placed neatly on top. Nothing shifted. Nothing disturbed.

  He nodded to himself.

  That was right.

  The door opened without a knock.

  “Already awake?” Liora’s voice was always softer than the clan demanded.

  She came in carrying a tray with a cup of herbal brew and a small bowl of rice. Her movements were smooth—not deliberately graceful, just habitually careful.

  “I woke up early,” Arden said.

  “Really? Voluntarily?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then that really is an achievement.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “Is this another one of your healthy things?”

  “If it were unhealthy, I wouldn’t have brought it.”

  He took a sip and grimaced.

  “It’s trying very hard to taste like nothing.”

  “Healthy things rarely try to be liked,” Liora said calmly.

  ...

  In the evening, they sat by the window.

  The garden darkened, and the air grew cooler.

  “You really think you can calculate everything?” Eyra asked.

  Arden thought for a moment.

  “If I don’t try, then definitely not.”

  “And if your calculation doesn’t work?”

  He looked at her.

  “Then I’ll make a new one.”

  The house stood firm.

  The name Lunveyr carried weight.

  And as long as everything was right, he saw no reason to doubt.

  Chapter 1. Eleven

  Eleven years old—the age when childhood hasn’t let go yet, but the clan already looks at you differently. Arden could feel it.

  He was taller than most boys his age, lean, with a straight back and the habit of holding his chin a little higher than modesty required. His face still carried a softness, but his gaze was attentive, collected. There was always measurement in it: distances, reactions, possibilities.

  Order began with the smallest things.

  And Arden watched the smallest things.

  He woke up on his own.

  The ceiling was the same—smooth beams, strict geometry of lines. The room hadn’t changed. A wooden sword by the wall. Folded clothes. A book on the side table.

  The world was in place.

  He turned his head—and froze.

  Eyra sat on his bed, legs crossed.

  Dressed up.

  A light dress with dark embroidery along the sleeves. Hair neatly arranged. A ribbon matched to the fabric. Even her expression was less lazy than usual.

  She looked at him as if she were waiting for him to finally understand.

  “…What?” he asked.

  Eyra smiled slowly.

  “Happy birthday, little brother.”

  He sat up.

  Eleven.

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  Today.

  The word turned heavy.

  “You’re in my room.”

  “I know.”

  “In the morning.”

  “Yes.”

  “All dressed up.”

  “Very observant.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “What are you plotting?”

  “Nothing,” she answered calmly. “It’s just that today you turn eleven.”

  She touched his shoulder, lightly.

  “Congratulations.”

  No teasing.

  And that made it strange.

  “Thanks.”

  “The table’s already set. And you’re only allowed to be late today.”

  She stood and walked out.

  Arden stayed sitting.

  Eleven.

  A threshold.

  He took a deep breath.

  His back straightened on its own.

  The table really was set differently.

  Not lavish—the clan didn’t tolerate showy excess—but festive.

  Fruit. Sweet cakes. Tea with a rare fragrance.

  Liora stood by the table. Her hair was neatly gathered, her clothes a shade more formal than usual.

  When Arden came in, she smiled.

  “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stepped closer and adjusted his collar.

  “Today is an important day.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He looked at her calmly.

  “I’m ready.”

  She held his face in her gaze.

  “You always talk as if you’ve already calculated everything.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No,” she said gently. “Just remember—sometimes calculation isn’t enough.”

  Eyra was already at the table.

  “Oh, here comes the philosophy,” she drawled. “Maybe we let him eat first?”

  They sat.

  Today Arden ate more slowly than usual.

  Not because he was nervous.

  Because everything felt clear.

  Every movement seemed a little more important. The chopsticks lay perfectly straight. His back was straight.

  Eyra watched him openly.

  “Are you already practicing your heir face?” she asked.

  “I’m just eating.”

  “You’re doing it like you’re taking an oath.”

  He lifted his eyes.

  “It’s just breakfast.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “And you already look like someone’s about to hand you an empire.”

  He didn’t answer.

  He wasn’t going to look lost.

  The celebration was nearing its end when Alaric Lunveyr—his grandfather—appeared in the doorway.

  Not just an elder of the bloodline.

  The man who kept the clan’s library. Who trained the younger generation. Who had returned from his travels with techniques that strengthened the name Lunveyr.

  He entered without hurry.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, silver hair swept back. His face was cut with wrinkles, but his gaze was clear and heavy.

  For the clan, he was a pillar of tradition.

  For Arden—he was the only adult you could argue with.

  “Eleven,” he said. “Fast.”

  Arden stood.

  “Lord Alaric.”

  A hand settled on his shoulder.

  Heavy. Strong.

  “Congratulations,” the elder Lunveyr said. “Today you’ll learn who you are.”

  He glanced over the table.

  “Everyone is already in the assembly hall.”

  The silence thickened.

  “Is it time already?” Arden asked.

  “Time doesn’t ask.”

  In the Lunveyr clan, eleven was never just an age.

  It was a threshold.

  Before it, a child belonged to the home. After—to a path.

  At eleven, the spiritual root awakened—if it existed at all.

  Roots differed in strength: some pulled qi greedily and wide, others barely answered the flow.

  They differed in elements.

  An element determined a direction of growth.

  Fire was one path. Water another. Wind, earth, wood, blood—each attribute laid down its own line.

  In the early stages of cultivation, a person could use only the elements embedded in their root. An alien nature wouldn’t answer.

  And the more attributes a root held, the harder the road became.

  Qi began to mix. Different elements clashed in the meridians, tainting each other, weakening the overall flow.

  What looked like a gift often became an obstacle.

  Powerful cultivators with mixed roots were rare.

  Very rare.

  The name Lunveyr did not chase rarity for beauty’s sake.

  It needed strength.

  The doors of the assembly hall opened.

  In the center stood a stone pedestal.

  On it—a transparent sphere.

  Already in the hall were Selena Lunveyr, the clan head. Serael Lunveyr, the First Elder. Arctur Lunveyr, his uncle. And Alaric.

  Arden stopped before the pedestal.

  “Begin,” Selena said.

  He placed his palm on the sphere.

  Light flared.

  Red.

  Fire.

  Dark blue.

  Water.

  Azure.

  Wind.

  Brown.

  Earth.

  Green.

  Wood.

  Five elements.

  Too many.

  Multi-element roots rarely became a blessing.

  More often—a burden.

  The elder’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  Arctur stopped smiling.

  Alaric watched without blinking.

  Selena’s face remained calm.

  But deep in her gaze, a shadow flickered—too quick for anyone but herself to notice.

  And then the light trembled.

  It grew thicker.

  Darker.

  A new shade appeared.

  Dark crimson.

  Dense.

  Blood.

  An anomaly.

  Silence.

  The sphere kept shining.

  Arden felt his palm on the sphere begin to pulse.

  Not painful.

  But unmistakable.

  Beneath the smooth surface, something answered him.

  The light didn’t fade.

  It built.

  And for the first time all day, Arden understood—

  he was no longer the center of a family celebration.

  He was the center of a decision.

  The awakening wasn’t finished yet.

  Chapter 2. Beyond the Limit

  The light didn’t go out.

  It kept pulsing beneath his palm.

  The dark crimson of blood didn’t vanish. It grew heavier, deeper—like it had soaked into the sphere’s very structure.

  The hall went perfectly still.

  And then the light flared again.

  Violet.

  Sharp.

  Jagged.

  Lightning.

  The air tightened, like before a blow. Somewhere by the wall, someone drew a quiet breath.

  Arctur stopped smiling.

  Serael no longer blinked.

  Alaric exhaled slowly, never taking his eyes off the light.

  But that still wasn’t all.

  The next color came with effort.

  Gold.

  Deep.

  Metal.

  It didn’t shine—it pressed down. Like the weight of a blade in his hand.

  Selena’s gaze went still.

  Only after metal did the light change again.

  Clear.

  Almost colorless.

  Ice.

  It carried a cold that no light could warm.

  The sphere trembled.

  For an instant, the glow turned blinding.

  Then it snapped off.

  Silence fell like a blow.

  Arden slowly pulled his hand away.

  His palm tingled.

  Nine.

  Fire. Water. Wind. Earth. Wood.

  Blood. Lightning. Metal. Ice.

  “Nine attributes,” Serael said.

  It didn’t sound like awe.

  It sounded like a calculation.

  Alaric stepped forward.

  “A mutated Heavenly root.”

  The elder Lunveyr’s voice was calm, but heavy.

  “A Heavenly root is rare on its own. It seeks a balance of higher elements. But a mutation brings instability more often than greatness.”

  Arden listened without lowering his gaze.

  “The first five elements are considered standard,” Alaric continued. “Fire, water, wind, earth, wood. They form the base. Anything beyond five complicates the structure.”

  Serael added,

  “Too many attributes create internal friction. Qi starts to clash with itself. It mixes. It muddies. It weakens. The meridians overload.”

  For a few seconds, no one spoke.

  Then a quiet chuckle broke the silence.

  “Nine elements…” Arctur drawled.

  He laughed softly.

  Not sharply.

  With relish.

  “That’s not a root anymore. That’s a junk heap.”

  He stepped closer, tilting his head, studying Arden like he’d become an interesting experiment.

  “Fire, water, wind, earth, wood…” He began counting on his fingers. “Blood. Lightning. Metal. Ice.”

  He snorted.

  “You’ll have to feed all of them at once. Every element. Every conflict. Every tear.”

  His smile widened.

  “Can you imagine how much qi they’ll devour?”

  He leaned in a little closer.

  “If your meridians don’t rip apart first, of course.”

  His short laugh sounded almost cheerful.

  “An heir with nine attributes… chaos in its purest form.”

  “Arctur.”

  The name was quiet.

  But the air in the hall turned heavy.

  The laughter died instantly.

  The smile vanished.

  The blood drained from his face.

  He straightened.

  “I only said what was obvious.”

  “Your opinion has been heard,” Selena replied.

  “The ceremony is over.”

  Serael nodded.

  Arctur bowed first—just a touch deeper than etiquette required.

  Alaric lingered beside Arden.

  “This isn’t a sentence,” he said softly.

  And he left.

  Selena approached her son.

  “With me.”

  He nodded.

  The corridors were quiet.

  Footsteps echoed dully.

  The clan head’s chambers lay deep within the residence, beyond several protective formations.

  The doors opened.

  Inside was luxury without noise. Heavy fabrics in deep shades. A high bed with a thick canopy. A wide writing desk buried under scrolls and memory crystals. Several inner rooms—for meditation, for work, for private meetings.

  When the doors shut, Selena changed.

  Her shoulders dropped slightly.

  Her gaze came alive.

  “Do you understand what this means?”

  “That it will be difficult.”

  “Difficult is a gentle word.”

  She stepped closer.

  “Nine attributes are a burden. Your growth will be slow. Your qi will clash. Breakthroughs will be harder.”

  She paused.

  “The clan will give you everything you need. The best techniques. Resources. Teachers. Artifacts to stabilize you.”

  At that moment, the door opened softly.

  Liora entered the room.

  She bowed to Selena, then came closer to Arden.

  In the world of cultivators, a child’s birth rarely followed the simple pattern mortals knew.

  The strong could divide bloodline and motherhood in other ways.

  Blood and body did not always align.

  Sometimes one woman passed down the inheritance.

  Another carried and gave birth.

  Arden had two biological mothers.

  Selena had given him the bloodline.

  Liora had carried him and borne him.

  His sisters had been born the same way.

  There was nothing unusual in that, in a world where strength could bend even the laws of birth.

  “He’ll manage,” Liora said quietly.

  Selena looked at her.

  “He must.”

  Arden felt calm.

  Not fear.

  Not excitement.

  Just clarity.

  “I won’t fail you.”

  Selena smiled, barely.

  “I know.”

  Later, he left alone.

  The corridor felt longer than it had in the morning.

  Nine elements.

  A mutation.

  A Heavenly root.

  He stopped by a window.

  If everything was harder, then he would become stronger.

  The light in the sphere went out.

  But inside him, the movement was only beginning.