The palace had grown quiet after the storm of reunion. Jalen had spent the rest of the evening with his children, listening to their laughter, answering their endless questions about cultivation, and holding them close as though he could erase the years of separation with sheer presence. Jael, his first son, his pride and joy; Raja, his little king; and Jala, his little princess—being with them filled him with warmth. Yet beneath that warmth, a shadow lingered.
Rana noticed it. She had watched him all evening, her eyes sharp, her spirit attuned to his every breath. She knew her husband too well to miss the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze sometimes drifted into the distance. But she said nothing. Not yet. She waited until the children left to their quarters, until the palace lights dimmed and silence wrapped around them like a cloak. Only then did she turn to him.
"Jalen," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "Is there something wrong?"
He met her gaze, and for a moment the weight of his burden pressed harder. He could tell her—about the intruder, about the mark, about the looming danger. But what good would it do? She had suffered enough. He would not add to her worry.
Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her.
The kiss was not gentle. It was desperate, hungry, and filled with centuries of longing. Rana gasped softly, her hands rising to his shoulders, and then she melted into him. The years apart dissolved in that moment, replaced by fire and tenderness. Jalen poured every heartbeat of his exile into her, every ache of missing her, every dream of reunion.
Their embrace deepened, passion igniting like a storm. Clothes fell away, barriers shattered, and the chamber became a sanctuary of love. Jalen's touch was reverent yet fierce, his lips tracing the path of devotion across her skin. Rana responded with equal fervor, her laughter mingling with tears, her body trembling with joy.
It was not merely desire—it was healing, the mending of wounds carved by centuries apart. In that night they bound themselves anew with a vow unspoken but felt in every heartbeat. They gave themselves to each other completely, until exhaustion claimed them both.
Afterward, they lay entwined, the warmth of their bodies mingling beneath the silken sheets. Rana rested her head on his chest, her breath steady, her eyes closed. She did not need sleep, but tonight she chose it, surrendering to the comfort of his arms.
Jalen held her close, his hand brushing through her hair. He listened to the rhythm of her breathing, the fragile peace of the moment. Yet his own eyes remained open, his mind restless.
It was then that the voice echoed in his mind.
"You can always let the Origin Shard absorb the Eternal‑grade spirit tools of your kin and Zakia," it whispered, smooth and insidious. "That would raise your level faster, maybe even surpass that upper realm expert."
"If you don't have anything constructive to add," he responded within his inner world, his dantian that housed the shard fused with his primary spirit core, "then don't say anything."
"How about this then? The Origin Shard can take you to a place where you can grow stronger. But you will need to take a few people with you, particularly those with Eternal‑grade tools."
Suspicion flared. "What are you up to?"
"To make you stronger, of course. Don't you want to get stronger?"
"Yes," Jalen admitted, "but not at the expense of my disciples and my family."
"The Origin Shard already knows your heart. It does not ask you to sacrifice them; however, without the Eternal‑grade tools in their possession, the path ahead will remain closed. The place it intends to take you is not gentle; it devours the weak and exalts only those who endure. If your disciples and kin walk beside you, they may rise—or they may break. That is the risk. If they are fortunate, they may cross the threshold of transcendence."
Jalen's breath caught. Transcendent… For his disciples, for Zakai, for Tyrian—such a breakthrough could change everything. But could he trust the shard?
"Is this true?" he asked, his tone sharp. "You're not messing with me right now, are you?"
"The Origin Shard is a lot of things, but a liar it is not."
"Yeah, right." His lips curled in a bitter smile. "You may not have lied, but you've withheld truth before."
"Only for your mental well-being," the shard replied smoothly. "Now enough wasting time on the little things. Let's get back to the topic on hand. You will need that young dragon with you and that young emperor, Ameer."
Jalen's suspicion deepened. "Why do you need Jael and Ameer?"
"As the origin shard already explained to you, they will be needed to make you stronger. Do you have the guts to do it, my wielder?"
"You're not giving me a choice."
"Ever since you became transcendent, the Origin Shard has not once forced you against your will. Not because it cannot, but because you are now at a realm where it considers you its true wielder. You are also a living Eternal‑grade spirit tool on par with it, so it is the least the shard can do. And your second spirit core—technically you—would never allow the shard to act against you without a fight, especially if danger threatened you or your loved ones."
Silence stretched. Jalen's mind raced. Equal footing. Suspicion. Opportunity. Danger.
"Alright," he said finally, his voice heavy with resolve. "I'll follow your lead—for now."
"Good, go get that little emperor and get back here, then we can all leave for the Vernon Continent."
"Vernon Continent? Why there?"
"Just do as you're told." With that, the shard's voice vanished.
Jalen exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to Rana's sleeping face. He brushed a hand across her cheek, tender and protective. She did not stir. He closed his eyes, savoring the fragile peace of the moment.