Cultivating Talents [LitRPG Mana-cultivation]

As the blizzard subsided, the patriarch's form became unobscured, sitting on his throne. Silence filled the room. The cousins' mouths stilled. The aunties' hands dropped to their laps. And the uncles turned towards the patriarch, fear and reverence mingling within their eyes.

Emela sat up a little straighter. Her father, being in the Mana Ignition realm, could sense all that his domain covered. The frigid air rolling along her skin was a sign she was firmly within his power.

"As I am sure you are all aware, a sphere has formed above the city of Middlec. We attempted to probe its power," the Patriarch said, standing, "but as the Flamelights have discovered, it is far tougher than we had initially imagined. Its level is one that even a Mana Ignition cultivator cannot comprehend."

The patriarch sat back in his chair. At his feet, the ends of his blue and white battle robes shimmered. With a sigh, he steepled his hands as his eyes drifted to the First Elder. He then nodded to the man.

The First Elder stood from his balcony seat, bony fingers sliding over his slicked-back white hair.

"We have decided that our family will aim to profit from this, not through financial means, but through growth in power. While we're not aware of what lies behind the doors, we have our suspicions," the Elder said, the gold trimming of his robes catching in the light of the chandeliers running the length of the Grand Hall.

The First Elder's gaze moved across the hall, resting on individuals as he paused. Was he looking for someone? Or was it just to ensure people were paying attention? Not that anyone would be brave enough to ignore the Patriarch's speech.

Behind Emela, a man grumbled about expectations and overwork, lowering himself a little in his chair. Had he annoyed the First Elder? It was likely. The First Elder was not one to care for people if he couldn't use them.

"The Patriarch has concluded that when these doors open, they may, in fact, hold secrets behind them. We intend to send our family members in to gain the spoils," the First Elder said. "From the library, we have determined that this could be a sub-realm, one left by someone far stronger than…"

The First Elder quietened as he said those words, shifting his gaze towards the Patriarch. At his side, the First Elder's fist clenched as if he were worried he was about to be beaten.

A calm look rested on the Patriarch's face, clearly undisturbed by the First Elder's words. He nodded for the bony man to continue.

"Much stronger," the First Elder said, "than our family. If this ancestor wishes to safeguard our city through the means of leaving a realm, we see no reason not to attempt it. And thus, the Patriarch has made a decree. All family members shall prepare to advance through the doors within the next six days."

"Oh," said a voice in the middle row, further down the hall, closer to the Patriarch.

It was a portly man, round-bellied, with hair clinging desperately to his head. Emela didn't know this cousin, but from the look on his face, he was quite aghast.

"My sons are still across the lake, at the Frontmarsh outpost. I fear they won't be back until the next crossing."

"Romello. Would you turn down this honour?" the First Elder asked, his gaze narrowing at the man.

The man sweated, beads pooling on his eyebrows and dripping to his chin. "No, no, of course not, First Elder, it's just… there are certain—"

"Romello speaks true," Elder Margaret said from her balcony seat, adjusting herself and sitting forward. "I feel that if this is indeed a sub-realm of sorts—perhaps from the books we've spoken of before this—there could be a great bounty for us there. Should all the family really get to enjoy its spoils?" She said, her eyes turning to Emela.

As Emela's chest tightened, her eyes shifting to her lap, the seat to her left exploded in a cloud of mist. Cool water droplets splashed against her face, chilling her skin as her mother appeared in the chair. Her mother crossed her legs, the smooth silk of her white battle robes shifting as she rested her hands on the armrests, her gaze directed at Elder Margaret.

"And do you not think my daughter has already paid her dues to the family?" Emela's mother said. "Do you think her sacrifice to the Muddust family is not enough to warrant her a passage to this sub-realm?"

Elder Margaret sneered, resting her hand on the golden railings. Her rings clinked against the metal as her well-manicured fingers coiled around it.

"Sacrifice? She is serving her family, doing us an honour, Catherine," she said, her blue ornate crystal-like earring shaking as she spoke. "You should know this. After all, is it not your role to serve—to carry out the orders of the family like the dog you are?"

Emela's mother stared at Elder Margaret, the words she'd been about to say stuck in her throat. Her mother could challenge the woman, but Elder Margaret was the first wife in the Patriarch's harem, and it was not Emela's mother's place to question the woman—at least not so publicly.

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Emela's eyes drifted back to her hands. She potentially had to enter the trial realm with her family. Would she have to talk to her friends about this? She couldn't. She'd need to tell them she was a noble. But what then? Being in the trial realm, there was no way to hide her identity. But her only options were to hide her identity from her friends or from her family.

A hand fell on Emela's shoulder, and she turned her head. Her mother smiled at her, giving her shoulder a single squeeze, a small encouragement from a woman who rarely did such acts. "I will not let them take any more from you, my love," she whispered.

As Catherine turned her head to speak, the Patriarch spoke again.

"My decision is final. All members of the family shall go into the sub-realm," the Patriarch said, his eyes resting on Emela for a moment, and then travelling to several others in the Grand Hall.

He moved to Noelle, who sat further down the hall, closer to her father, then to Brom, and then to Lianna—Emela's more reclusive sister, and the older of the two—who rarely spoke much, and then to the favoured son, Drion, who sat at a seat a few feet from the Patriarch. His chair was not as high as her father's, but it still lorded over all in the Grand Hall. A suitable seat for the next family head.

"All my children shall enter the sub-realm and seek rewards." The Patriarch's mana fluctuated. A sharp blizzard rushed through the Grand Hall, causing the hair on Emela's forearm to prickle. "Perhaps it could change the fate of this family and set us on a different path. I will have no questions about this."

"The Patriarch has spoken," the First Elder said, his gaze turning to Elder Margaret. He narrowed his eyes, his bony hand gesturing for her to calm down.

"All family members deemed eligible shall enter the realm and seek their fortune." He flung out his bony hand in a wide arc, his jewelled fingers catching in the mana stone light. "It is your duty to the Frostkeep family, and must be served."

Emela's heart dropped, a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest as her hands balled up. The soft blue carpet at her feet became suffocating as it grew harder and harder to breathe.

What was she to do? What was she to say?

She had to tell her friends—but how? The only hope left was to test the waters. Perhaps Hector would understand. After all, he was coming to learn that he wasn't quite what he believed he was. Maybe he'd understand.

—- —- —- —-

Sitting on the tent canvas, Hector rested a hand on his knee, which he had propped up. Before him, Pippa, Harry, and Mrs. Strongmail all massaged their arms, with various looks crossing their features, but the overall mood was one of solemn gratitude.

It's a good thing they actually accepted. It would've been awkward if we had needed to find some other way to do this. Even so, to fully choose this life and forgo a normal one... I wonder why. Did they fully understand the risks when we explained them?

Hector glanced to his side, at Emela. The girl's face was one of tension; she'd been this way since she arrived at the hideout with Nyx. It was as if she wanted to say something, as if keeping the words in caused her some sort of pain.

Was it to do with what Mirae had told him? Was she indeed a noble? She had already asked to speak to him earlier before the meeting, but Hector said that they would do so when they finished integrating the other three—tasks were piling up.

Hector's gaze shifted again, moving from Jodie to Lincoln, who stood behind him. The mana stones shone onto the tan tent canvas, illuminating the space in a soft blue light. There was another matter they all needed to discuss today.

"I can't believe you have something this magical," Pippa said, her hand still lingering on the tree tattoo on her forearm. "How is it even possible? Are we going to get one of those Talents you talked about soon?"

"That is the plan," Hector said, his hands dropping from his knee as he readjusted himself, crossing his legs. "I want to ensure we are all prepared before entering the trial realm when those doors open. If anyone is too weak when they go in, I worry they'd be more of a liability than an asset."

Pippa's mother raised an eyebrow. "And how do you plan to make us stronger, as you put it? Using these Talents, I assume?" she said, blowing a loose strand of her short brown hair to the side.

Hector shook his head. "Not quite. I intend for you all to cultivate. Especially you," he said, nodding towards Pippa's mother. "It would be best if we're as strong as possible before going into the trial realm. I mean, the mana coming off the door alone is almost double what we have normally—"

"And it'd be a waste not to use it," Lincoln said, with a slight smile slipping onto his lips.

"Exactly," Hector continued. "As a matter of fact, I want to make use of a Talent that I recently awakened, so there will be a shuffling of Talents going on later, or throughout the week. But the main point is I want us all—or at least most of us—to use the door today to attempt a good six hours of cultivation."

At his side, Emela winced, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she combed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She shook her head and sighed. "I won't be able to cultivate with you all."

Hector's brow furrowed. What did that mean? Why would she not be able to cultivate with them? It was simple cultivation, and it wasn't exactly like they were stuck for time. By his estimate, Emela had a while until she had to go back home.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Lincoln shifted behind him, his sandals scratching against the canvas as he coughed into his fist. "Actually, Hector, before we go to the door. There's something important I need to show you."

Jodie raised a brow at Hector. She turned to Lincoln. "Off to ask him to rob another farm, are you, Lincoln?" she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Lincoln levelled a gaze at her but said nothing before turning back to Hector. "It's urgent. I need you for this. I think the sooner we get to it, the better."

Hector narrowed his gaze at his friend. It was not really the time to be playing coy with secrets, but then again, Hector had asked him to do something that he didn't really want the others to know about—not yet, anyway.

Resting his gaze on Emela, Hector gnawed on his bottom lip. His gaze flickered to Nyx, but the black-haired girl's expression gave him nothing. He sighed. "I think you should reconsider, Emela. We can talk about what's bothering you later—after I get back," he said, pushing his hand on the canvas and coming to his feet.

Mirae, who sat at the side next to Pippa, raised a questioning brow. Hector said nothing, but simply mouthed, I'll be back soon, before turning to Lincoln and raising a hand, gesturing for him to lead the way.

With a nod, Lincoln exited the tent, Hector following behind as the others began talking amongst themselves.