Zamian stood, feeling a mix of annoyance and anticipation as he watched his father inspect the red mist and the empty ceramic pot. 'Maybe a unique reaction from the Abyssal Leaf with water and heat,' he mused with a shrug. More pressing concerns lingered on his mind.

  "Come on, old man. I would joke about you spilling it out before you forget, but we both know it wouldn't be a joke," he said, smirking.

  "Patience, patience. Were you always this anxious, kid?" Dante replied.

  "I could spend next lunch on the Deep Ground Prison, so yeah, maybe I'm a bit more anxious than usual," Zamian rolled his eyes.

  "Even you don't believe that, boy. Either imprisoning you or ending your mortal cycle at a trial would be a terrible political move. Taking away the previous Lord Chosen’s son wouldn't be what we call smart," Dante shot him a knowing look.

  "Dear father, wasn't I, your Enlightened son, fatally wounded until a few moments ago?"

  "You jest, but even that was a smarter political move than sending you to the Deep Ground tomorrow. Can you guess why, boy?" Dante asked, finally sitting across from Zamian, making some fluffy leaves grow behind the chair’s back for comfort.

  "Uh-huh," Zamian nodded. "Now that I think about the situation, I have a guess. Yokki wanted me to make it home. She wanted to test you, didn’t she?" The young man’s voice took on a serious tone.

  "Smart boy," Dante grunted. "But one correction: not she, but they. Yokki would never make a move alone. It would be beyond stupid to act against me without support."

  "The current Lord Chosen is helping her?" Zamian guessed the underlying meaning.

  "Good to see those fantasy books served you well," Dante grinned. "Yes, kiddo. He knows that even with his ass on that throne, even after taking my guards from me and sending me to this forsaken root at the fringe of the Sanctuary... Even with all that, I still pose a danger to his position."

  "But how could they know I was there? Below Erasmus Tree? Are they spying on me?"

  Dante laughed, with that bestial sound again, "Come on, boy. The world doesn't revolve around you — that's something Jasmine loved to say,” he smiled gently, “Zamian, I bet they just saw an opportunity and took it. Learn from that. And if you don’t see one, make it yourself."

  "Got it, old man," Zamian nodded nonchalantly, dismissing his father's advice as an opportunity the older man saw to speak nonsense. "But please, can you finally tell me what's so important?"

  "Okay, okay. Well, first of all, congratulations, kid. You are ready to have a breakthrough and become a Zealot!" Dante gave a thumbs up.

  Zamian sat in stunned silence, his gaze distant. Abruptly, he snapped to attention, eyes wide. "Impossible, Dad! Becoming a Zealot takes at least a dozen years for an Enlightened. I need at least five more, three if I push myself to the limit."

  As Zamian spoke, Dante murmured affirmatively, "And now you understand why I am torn between hugging and beating you. Listen to me, boy. Typically, cultivators hear Nature's Knowledge as they cultivate, obtaining more essence."

  Zamian listened earnestly.

  "This makes our soul stronger, too, accelerating the cultivation process until we can have a breakthrough. The difference between a Zealot and an Enlightened isn't merely in the amount of essence they can hold, no, it is in how they interact with the world, how easily they can command essence. And if your soul is powerful enough, you can cultivate more efficiently. For example, in a few breaths, I can gather more essence than you could in a day."

  "My soul makes my cultivation faster… That is good! How much time do I need to have a breakthrough? A few months?"

  "Two days, Zamian,” Dante said with a wry smile, “At most, in two days of non-stop cultivation, you, my son, will be one of the youngest Zealots I've ever known. Maybe only the Children of Verdant could compare to you."

  Zamian's heart raced. Despite his disdain for the Verdant God due to what happened to his parents, being compared to one of his divine children was flattering, stroking his almost non-existent ego.

  "And that isn’t the best part, boy."

  "It isn’t?"

  "No, kiddo. Achieving a breakthrough is merely a matter of time. Even if it took you years, you would become a Zealot," Dante's eyes gleamed.

  Zamian signaled his understanding.

  "The best part," Dante said, pointing at Zamian’s heart. "It’s inside your soul. Boy, you have something in there I've never seen before. Not in another Chosen or in the Children of Verdant’s souls. When I tried to screen your soul with my technique, I was overwhelmed by a sense of danger. That was the thing that made me shudder."

  Zamian's eyebrows shot up. It was no small feat to alarm a Chosen.

  "Listen closely, because whatever now lurks in that soul of yours, it wasn't there yesterday, and aside from observing your soul, I could do nothing else. Do you understand what this means, son?"

  Clenching his fists, Zamian answered, "I must be more cautious or Yokki will notice something is amiss, right?"

  "No."

  "Wh-What?"

  "You're wrong. When in doubt, you're always too cautious. You need to be a bit more fearless. Look at Bohlo, kid. Occasionally not using your brain could be good."

  "Let me think," Zamian closed his eyes in thought.

  “Don’t think. You need to open your mind while listening to your instincts too,” Dante said, a toothy smile spreading across his face.

  Zamian did what he was told, and tried to listen to his instincts. He had no clue of what to do at first, but then it hit him, like a flow of thoughts and whispers, a trail of ideas he should follow and listen to. After a few breaths, Zamian's eyes snapped open.

  "You're coming with me tomorrow. Yokki won't dare do anything in front of you. And then, I can cultivate to become a Zealot in two days, justifying any changes to my soul as a secret technique of yours or from mother's. I could even claim the soul injury awakened some dormant talent."

  Dante nodded, encouraging Zamian to continue.

  "And," a realization dawned on Zamian, quickening his breath, "I can't become a Saint! The thing inside my soul makes even you feel danger, the other Chosen will be the same—they won’t mess with my soul!"

  "Well said, my boy. Unless the great Verdant God lowers himself to transform you, no matter what happens, they can't turn you into a future Colossal Tree. They can't take you away from me, like they did to your mother," Dante's eyes shone as he spoke.

  "That's huge, Dad," Zamian stood, looking towards the middle door of the living room, "I'll start cultivating now,” he was eager to advance and learn more about the thing inside his soul. ‘Maybe this thing can be passed to father, It can save him, It can-’ the flow of random thoughts constantly whispered new ideas to him.

  "Wait," Dante summoned vines with a wave of his hand, pulling Zamian back to the chair and interrupting the young man’s thoughts, "Calm down. Having a stronger soul will also make you more thoughtless. You have started listening to your instincts, but you must determine your actions with a clear mind."

  Zamian froze, unsure what to do, and then sat down again.

  "You should learn from Bohlo, as weird as it sounds. Sometimes you might think he's foolish, but it's just because his soul is too powerful for his own good, kid. He trusts his instincts too much and acts without thinking," Dante explained, showing each finger as he kept speaking. "And in return, he cultivates faster, gathers more essence, is more attuned to nature, can learn new techniques more easily, can visualize better images when cultivating, and has a feel for his surroundings. Of course, for balance, he can’t use his brain as a normal person would expect him to,” Dante smirked.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  "How can I avoid that? It doesn’t make sense. Chosen should be mindless beasts at best with how powerful their souls are. Or they would be in great danger by not thinking with their souls and listening to their instincts in battle."

  "That’s why you need to have a breakthrough. Zealots and Chosen have stronger vessels for their souls; they can handle the battle between reason and instincts. But beware, becoming a Zealot won't turn you into a genius; it only allows you to use more of your existing intellect while dealing with the flux of information from your instincts,” Dante lamented in false mockery, "Most people will forever be foolish."

  Zamian scratched his head, and then nodded "Okay, Dad. After tomorrow's trial, I'll seclude myself and become a Zealot."

  "What seclusion? Two days at home don't even qualify as recovering from an illness, much less a cultivation seclusion, boy, " Dante scoffed with amusement.

  Zamian's cheeks reddened slightly. For a moment, he had thought those were nice words to say, after all, only powerful cultivators secluded themselves while crafting techniques or delving into the secrets of their Path.

  "Now, tell me everything that happened after you left the Colossal Tree, though you must skip any mention of that secret of yours," Dante instructed as a dark green glow emanated from his chest to the floor, conjuring a small table laden with fruit, grains, and wooden cups. He bit into a hairy, fragrant fruit.

  Zamian nodded, recounting the events up to the moment his father truly awakened. The young man picked and opened a greenish fruit filled with transparent liquid and drank it every so often. Throughout the story, Dante nodded, occasionally grunting or shaking his head.

  "Point out your questions or concerns, boy," Dante remarked.

  "Besides what we already talked about, and the things we can’t discuss for now, I’m curious about what a Calamity is and about the timing of... The miracle," Zamian cautiously stated, avoiding mentioning the Quest as his father had demanded before.

  "And the marriage issue," Dante added with a grin.

  "I thought we already had a plan for the trial?" Zamian returned his father's look with a puzzled expression.

  "I said marriage, not trial, boy."

  "Aren't they essentially the same, Dad? I mean, Yokki would never let me marry Lakea even if we wanted to—and it's been years since we last saw each other. Besides, the marriage proposal was just a pretext for me to leave there, we all know it," Zamian argued, his brow furrowing.

  "It was indeed a pretext, kid. Yokki would never fall for your ruse, of course. She must have been thrilled when you gave her a plausible reason to release you. She needed a valid motivation to free you, not knowing who can be trusted in her own house; after all, her abode is a nest of snakes masquerading as vines," Dante pointed out.

  Zamian acknowledged this, recalling the hidden cultivators on Yokki’s abode.

  "However, that was then. For now, this situation won’t be all roses and morning dew any longer. When you return as a Zealot in a few days, and her spies notice it, she'll insist on the marriage. Do you understand why, son?"

  Silence fell. Zamian clenched his fists, his voice low, "Fear."

  "Exactly, fear. I'm the thorn in the side of the current Lord Chosen. Only Verdant God knows how those two snakes became allies, but they both should see me as a threat.” Dante spoke with a bestial smile forming on his face, as he looked at Zamian.

  “However, kid, when you become a Zealot, your potential will scare them too. They'll want to monitor you closely, bind you to them, and ensure their plans, whatever they are, go smoothly. And a 15-year-old Zealot is a big blighted tree in their way. Yokki shall see the marriage as the perfect chance to address the issue."

  "She will say I tainted her daughter and declared my love," Zamian muttered through gritted teeth after hearing his father, “After all, I said I committed a crime for Lakea. Yokki will demand I do the righteous thing. Taking responsibility and starting the new family I said I would. Vermins!” Zamian cursed.

  "Kiddo!" Dante winked, "Don't worry too much. I'll handle it, simply give me some time," he gave a thumbs up "As for the Calamity, our world was once decimated by a Divine Calamity, according to the sacred texts. Solely the Stargazing Clerics have the scriptures that talk more about them. If you want to read, I’ll need to pull some strings."

  "But what about a le–” Zamian cleaned his throat, thinking of an alternative for Level 4, "A lesser Calamity, what could that entail?" Zamian asked

  "I'm not sure. Considering the timing of your miracle, however…” Damian paused, and seemingly changed the topic, "Boy, did you know that some cultivators can detonate their essence, causing an immense wave of destruction? Thankfully, it's a forbidden technique known only to a few Chosen, meant exclusively for dire circumstances outside the Sanctuary," Dante explained, his smile becoming melancholic his intense gaze meeting Zamian's, “And some of them would use it when they lost their sanity.”

  Zamian understood the implication. 'Thank you, White Dot,' he thought.

  "Carrot and stick, boy. That's how we made mules carry our burdens to their destination, in the past. Poor things never understood where we were going or what would happen to them when we arrived," Dante said, sipping his juice.

  "I bet the mules would do everything to survive and protect their family, even if they faced only the sticks. Having any carrot is more than they could hope for," Zamian replied, his gaze unfocused.

  "The burden isn't yours alone, Zamian," Dante cautioned.

  "Do you still want to save Mom?" Zamian challenged.

  "Of course, boy!" Dante exclaimed, passion flaring through his speech, "She's the mother of my child and the love of my life!"

  "Then I'll be there to save you, you crazy old man," Zamian retorted coldly. "Because she's been gone for years now, put that on your blighted head already."

  "You're letting your emotions get the better of you, and too much has happened too quickly," Dante said, his presence emanating a heavy pressure that made Zamian feel pure dread as if sinking into an abyss. "But don't you dare challenge me on this, do you understand?" The pressure lifted, and Dante grinned, "And you're not the only one with secrets, boy. Remember, being a cultivator is about reshaping the world to your will. To make the impossible, possible. To find your path, and follow it. No matter what."

  Dante stood, and with a flick of his wrist, all wooden constructs retracted into the floor.

  “Dad, wait," Zamian said out loud “There is another issue."

  "I know you are concerned about my condition, boy. I'll investigate that red mist, maybe it can help me. You go rest now, and tomorrow, we can have some fun with those fancy ladies at the trial," he laughed, stepping into a newly formed hole in the ground and sealing it after himself.

  Left alone, Zamian glanced at the floor where his chair had been. Not feeling particularly weary, he moved towards a door opposite the main entrance. Opening it revealed a vibrant garden under a canopy of multicolored leaves and bright green grass, illuminated by glowing white leaves on the ceiling.

  Settling beneath a yellow-leaved tree, Zamian leaned back against the trunk, sighing deeply as he looked up, lost in thought.

  "So much has happened today," he murmured with a faint smile. "Yet, I feel more alive than ever. These past two years, just reading books and caring for father, have been boring, I guess." He closed his eyes. "I just hope the following days are not so dangerous."

  Feeling a breeze in the closed garden, Zamian spotted a bush a few steps away, its branches heavy with purple fruits. Small, sweet delicacies originated from a kind of grape, as the young cultivator read once. "Mom loved these," he mused. "She said they reminded her of her childhood."

  He chuckled, the memory bittersweet. His mother's eccentric sayings had always been a charming aspect of her personality. "What would you have to say for me now, Mom?"

  Rising, he walked over to the bush, crouching to dig a small hole beside it. His fingers brushed against a hard object. Recognizing the shape, he carefully excavated it, and wiping away the dirt, he uncovered a book titled Sixteen Paths of Cultivation.

  ‘Not a great place to keep a book, but that is what turned it into the best hide spot.’

  Sitting cross-legged, he checked on the book, placing it on his lap and flipping open the cover, his eyes scanning the note on the first page:

  "Zammy, happy birthday! I hope your mortal cycle is filled with good food, good friends, and good memories of all kinds. Baby, look at you—such a handsome boy now. In a few years, you'll break many hearts. I am already worried! Please, don't become a womanizer, darling, otherwise, your future wife will have her hands full and make you suffer—just ask your father."

  Zamian laughed, his eyes misting over, as he continued reading:

  "I know you detest reading, so I've filled this book with plenty of images. I hope it helps you appreciate literature more. Sadly, the Sanctuary only has dull books—oh, how that pains a cultured lady like me. Anyway, my love, I truly hope this book inspires you to walk your path with courage and joy. Embrace cultivation, Zammy! Forget about power and strength. Strive for happiness!

  With love, your sweet and beautiful and humble,

  Mom.”

  Zamian closed the book, wiping his tear-streaked face with his sleeve. Blinking back his emotions, he began to flip through the remaining pages.

  As his mother had promised, beyond her inscription, the rest of the book had little text, and a wry smile touched his lips.

  Every subsequent page was blank.

  Previously, there had been some images and a few lines of text. Zamian had received this book on his twelfth birthday. His mother had flipped through some pages with him, but at the time he paid little to no attention. Afterward, he had merely stored the book beneath his bed and forgotten about the gift.

  Only after Jasmine was taken, and during the first of his father's crises did the thirteen-year-old Zamian remember the book, when he found himself below his bed, clutching it to his chest. From outside, he could hear screams and a burst of bestial laughter, accompanied by the sounds of vines slicing through flesh and making sickening, squelching noises.

  It was there, beneath his bed, that he first opened the book to read his mother’s note. He hadn’t noticed the note when she gifted him.

  And when he turned to the next page, a bright white light covered his vision, searing in his mind a wall of white text—the first of many.

  Inheritor Found

  Analyzing

  Name: Zamian Greenfield

  Bloodline: Match.

  Spirit: Match

  Attempting merge (!)

  (!) Please find a secluded place for the merging process

  Secluded place found: Underbed

  Initiating merging.

  After that, Zamian remembered waking up later to the White Dot issuing his first Main Quest.

  That this nice author will have so much success that he will once more keep writing his other book!

  Go, go. Give him money so he can throw it away.

  And no! Not even by bringing the apocalypse you guys would be able to make me tell the book's name!

  I jest you not!