Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

The Grand Elder gave a sharp nod to one of the attendants standing at the edge of the hall. His tone was composed, yet carried with it the weight of urgency. "Bring in Lady Aralyn. Tell her we request her presence at once. Let her know it pertains to her cultivation."

The attendant bowed and hurried off without a word. The moment he disappeared through the arched doorway at the back of the room, the once-tense atmosphere gave way to silence. The alchemists whispered quietly among themselves, some recalling her story, others skeptical that Lucas's potion could possibly succeed where so many others had failed. Still, not one of them left the room or even turned away. Something in the air told them that history was quietly drawing breath before taking its next step.

Lady Aralyn's tale was well-known, particularly among the older members of the guild. In her prime, she had been nothing short of remarkable, she was ascendant ranked cultivator of fierce reputation and relentless ambition, heralded as one of the most promising talents her sect had seen in decades. Her rise had been meteoric, and so too was her fall. In her unyielding pursuit of advancement, she had pushed herself far beyond the limits of safety. Her meridians and dantian, overburdened and strained beyond their natural capacity, had finally shattered under the pressure. In one violent backlash of spiritual energy, her cultivation was crippled. No technique, pill, or elixir had been able to restore her since.

She became a subject of pity for some, a cautionary tale for others. Worse, she had become something of a living test case for many ambitious alchemists seeking glory by curing the incurable. They brought her their potions and pills, promising miracles and breakthroughs, only to deliver disappointment after disappointment. Her hope had eroded year by year until it was nothing but ash.

Twenty-five long minutes passed before the heavy wooden doors creaked open once again. All heads turned as the sound echoed through the vast chamber.

Lady Aralyn entered with a grace that seemed instinctual, despite the heaviness in her gaze and the fatigue in her movements. Her robe was modest, though elegant, made of pale gray silk with silver embroidery that shimmered faintly with her every step. Her posture was straight, her expression unreadable. Even now, with two decades of pain etched quietly behind her eyes, she was beautiful, regal, refined, and clearly once formidable. Her silver hair was drawn into a simple braid, streaked lightly with the silver of time, and her gaze swept the room without expectation, barely acknowledging the alchemists who had gathered.

This was not the first time she had been summoned to witness promises of healing. She had long ceased to feel excitement or dread at such things. If anything, she had grown numb. The last time she had dared to feel hope had been years ago, when a potion brewed by a celebrated sect master promised her the impossible. That one, like the others, had ended in disappointment. Since then, she had merely gone through the motions, out of politeness, out of obligation, or perhaps a dwindling thread of curiosity she could not fully extinguish.

She moved to the center of the hall where the Grand Elder gestured for her to stand, and her eyes briefly found Lucas. She took in the sight of the young man before her, calm, composed, far too young to be the source of whatever commotion had drawn her here. She offered him a single glance, neither dismissive nor hopeful, but quietly resigned.

"This is your alchemist?" she asked softly, her voice smooth and even, like velvet draped over stone.

The Grand Elder did not answer immediately. Instead, he gave Lucas a look that was both expectant and respectful, before he turned his attention back to Aralyn. "He is. And he has made a claim unlike any we have heard before."

Aralyn raised a brow, more from habit than interest. "So have many others more proficient, talented and more experienced than him."

She folded her hands in front of her and waited, giving no further comment, no protest. She had come. That was all they would get from her.

Whatever hope she might have once had was long buried. The only thing left in its place was a quiet endurance, the kind carried by those who had learned how to smile through despair.

Lucas stood quietly as Lady Aralyn approached, her expression revealing little beyond the habitual skepticism she had worn for the better part of two decades. He didn't try to persuade her with words or exaggerate the potency of the elixir in his hands. He simply extended the small vial towards her, clear, crystalline, and glowing faintly with a soft amber hue. There was no theatrical flourish, no speech about his genius or any bold declarations. He merely offered it with the quiet confidence of someone who knew the worth of his own work.

She stared at the vial for a moment, hesitating as she had done a hundred times before with countless other "miracle cures." There was no anticipation in her eyes, only the weight of familiarity, of dashed hopes and repeated failures. Still, out of curiosity, she reached forward and took the vial from his hand.

The moment the potion touched her lips, she frowned slightly at the warmth that surged through her mouth and down her throat. It burned in a painful way, her eyes narrowed as her body tensed, the sensation unfamiliar yet oddly invigorating. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words never came. Instead, her breath caught. Her eyes widened, and her hand trembled ever so slightly.

There, deep within her body, dormant for twenty years, something stirred.

It stirred faintly, a flicker of warmth in the place she had long since believed dead. Her Dantian, silent for decades, pulsed faintly. A single beat, then another. Her breath hitched. Her knees almost buckled from the shock of it. She closed her eyes tightly and dropped into a seated position without hesitation. Her hands formed the old, familiar seals. Her breathing slowed, the world fell away.

The moment she entered a meditative state, the truth revealed itself in full force.

It was not her imagination, her Dantian was awakening.

She inhaled deeply, and with it came a rush of Qi so sudden and powerful that the air around her shimmered. The very atmosphere trembled as if rejoicing with her. It responded to her call, flooding into her like a dam had broken, and she drank it in greedily, as though afraid it might vanish at any second. Her meridians, once fractured and lifeless, sparked with new vitality. She felt the Qi flow through her veins like fire and lightning, charging every corner of her body with untamed energy.

Without thinking, as instinct and years of muscle memory took over, she released a focused burst of Qi.

The invisible surge shot forward with startling velocity and struck a nearby table. The thick wooden structure cracked violently before collapsing into a splintered heap of broken timber. The sound echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.

Silence followed, everyone except Lucas was stunned and breathless, they had just witnessed another impossible thing.

The Grand Elder blinked slowly, his lips parting ever so slightly. Lady Isabelle had not moved, her eyes were locked on Aralyn as though she were seeing a ghost rise from the grave. The other alchemists stood frozen, some with mouths agape, others slowly turning to glance at Lucas as if trying to process whether the boy in front of them was real or merely an illusion conjured by their collective hopes.

Aralyn opened her eyes, and for the first time in twenty years, they gleamed with vitality.

She placed a hand on her chest, as though trying to feel the truth of her body with her own fingers. "I can feel it…" she muttered. "I can feel it again."

Her voice trembled with disbelief and overwhelming gratitude. It had worked, against all odds, it had worked.

Lucas remained composed through it all, saying nothing, his hands folded behind his back as though this was merely another task completed, another formula confirmed. He showed no signs of arrogance, no prideful smirk or boastful grin. Instead, he stood still and silent while everyone else around him struggled to grasp what had just happened.

The room erupted into low murmurs, a growing wave of voices repeating the same truth over and over.

"He did it… He really did it."

"Impossible… No one has ever...."

"He's a monster… an absolute monster in Alchemy."

"This… this is not a boy. This is a miracle."

"He's the future. The very future of Alchemy."

Every single alchemist in the room, no matter how senior or accomplished, felt it in their bones. They were not looking at a rising talent, they were looking at something rare, something unmeasurable, a singularity in the world of alchemy.

Lucas had proven himself time and time again over the course of that single day, but this, this act...this miraculous revival of a crippled cultivation base, had eclipsed everything before it. It was a feat no one had managed, not even the greatest Alchemists of their age.