Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

The king's hand shot up, striking the air with the weight of command. His voice thundered across the chamber, carrying the kind of authority that silenced armies.

"Enough! Not another word from any of you."

The laughter died instantly, swallowed into a heavy silence. The elders, some with their lips still curled in mocking smiles, shut their mouths at once, though the disdain did not vanish from their eyes. Their robes rustled faintly as they shifted in their seats, but none dared speak against the king's order.

His Majesty leaned forward on his throne, his gaze never leaving Lucas. The air between them thickened with expectation. "Do you understand," the king said slowly, each word deliberate, "the gravity of what you have spoken here today? This is no trifling boast. To claim mastery over even the beginnings of teleportation is to lay claim to a force that could alter the balance of power across all kingdoms. You know well the weight such words carry."

Lucas's expression did not falter. His back remained straight, his eyes unblinking. "Your Majesty, I am not here to boast. I would never stand in this chamber and insult your judgment with empty words. I assure you, I am not bluffing. I have touched the essence of space itself, and though I have yet to perfect the art, I have proven to myself that it can be done. What I have is not a dream. It is real."

The king studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching as if he were peering into Lucas's very soul to uncover any trace of deceit. Slowly, his fingers tightened against the carved arms of his throne, knuckles whitening as the tremor of excitement returned to his hand. His eyes gleamed with something fierce, hope, ambition, and hunger all entwined.

"Then show me," the king commanded at last, his voice a low growl thick with anticipation. "If you would speak of bending space before my throne, then I demand proof. Do it here, and now. Let all present see whether your claim is truth or folly."

Behind Lucas, though the elders remained outwardly silent as the king had ordered, their restraint did not reach their hearts. Their lips twitched, their shoulders shook faintly, and the air was thick with muffled amusement. Several of them leaned toward one another with knowing glances, smothered chuckles slipping through their composure.

They could not deny Lucas's brilliance as a cultivator, nor could they ignore the miracle of his alchemical talents that had once humbled even seasoned masters. But this? Manipulating the fabric of space to vanish and reappear? It was too much, too impossible. They were not merely skeptical; they were certain he had overstepped himself this time.

After all, there were only a handful of space cultivators across the entire continent, men and women whose lives had been devoted to the deepest mysteries of the Dao of Space. None of them, not a single one, had ever achieved what Lucas now claimed. To the elders, it was nothing more than youthful arrogance dressed in bold words.

Lucas bent at the waist, a gesture of respect that was neither hurried nor shallow, his eyes fixed firmly upon the king as he spoke. "Your Majesty, I shall do as you have asked." His voice carried neither arrogance nor hesitation, only the steady cadence of a man who had weighed the consequences of his words and chosen to stand by them.

Rising from his bow, he turned toward the semicircle of elders who sat in their high-backed chairs, their gazes cold and unwelcoming. "Honored Elders," he said evenly, his tone calm and laced with firmness, "I must ask that you create some space within this chamber. What I am about to attempt cannot be performed carelessly. Space is not a gentle element to wield, nor is it entirely stable under my hand. If I am to proceed, I must do so with caution. I ask this not to inconvenience you, but to ensure your safety as well as mine."

His eyes moved deliberately from one elder to the next, searching their faces for any flicker of willingness or even the smallest sign of trust. Yet he found none. Their expressions ranged from suspicion to disdain, some of them leaning back in their seats with arms crossed, others leaning forward as though eager to witness what they expected would be his inevitable humiliation. The silence stretched, tense and unyielding, broken only by the faint rustle of robes as one of the elders shifted in his seat.

Lucas could not help but notice the empty chair at the far end of the line. Elder Alden's absence struck him with a pang of regret. Among them all, it was Elder Alden alone who might have looked upon him with fairness, who might have regarded his words with something beyond mockery. An assignment had kept him away from this gathering, and so Lucas stood alone before those who would rather see him fail.

At last, one voice cut through the chamber, sharp and grating. Elder Aryn, a man known for his pride and quick temper, leaned forward with a scowl etched deep across his face. His thin fingers gripped the arm of his chair as though ready to rise. "You ask us to move aside," he said, his words dripping with disdain, "as though your untested trick were some dangerous art. Do you think us fools, boy? You stand here making claims that no true master of space has ever fulfilled, and now you bid us to shuffle about like frightened children? Mark my words, if you dare make a mockery of this council, if you waste the king's time with empty theatrics, I will not forgive it. I will be very angry."

The air in the chamber seemed to tighten with the weight of his warning, and a few of the other elders nodded faintly, their lips curling in approval at Aryn's open rebuke.

Lucas did not flinch. His expression remained unchanged, his gaze calm and steady as though the elder's words had been no more than passing wind. He neither raised his voice nor attempted to defend himself against the accusation. Instead, he simply stood in place, waiting, his silence a quiet defiance in itself. Whatever doubts or scorn they cast upon him mattered little. His business was with the king, and the king alone.

Once the chamber had been reluctantly cleared, Lucas stepped forward into the open space at its center. He could feel every eye upon him, the weight of their suspicion and doubt pressing against his back like a physical force. Yet he held himself with composure, neither defiant nor hesitant, but resolute. This was the moment he had chosen, and there would be no turning from it.

The elders leaned slightly forward in their seats, craning to see him more clearly, as if expecting the slightest misstep that would confirm their scorn. Their lips curved with restrained amusement, some whispering to one another in tones not meant for his ears, though he heard them well enough. It did not matter.

As Lucas reached the center of the chamber, the grand doors opened once more, and the room shifted in mood. The Queen herself entered, regal in bearing, her every movement a study of controlled grace. At her side walked Princess Nyx, her head bowed slightly, her face unreadable save for the faint tension in her posture. Following them came Prince Darius, his expression sharp, his eyes gleaming with the curiosity of a man who understood the gravity of what was being claimed. Without pause, they moved toward their places near the throne, seating themselves in silence, the murmur of the court dying away at their arrival.

Lucas inclined his head respectfully, acknowledging their presence, before turning his gaze once more to the open floor before him.

From the corner of the chamber, nearly hidden among the servants and attendants, Lira stood with her back to the wall. She made no move to announce herself nor draw attention, yet her eyes never left him. A faint grin tugged at her lips, one she quickly masked by biting down gently on the inside of her cheek. She trusted him. More than that, she believed in him with a certainty that allowed no room for doubt. She had seen enough of Lucas to know he would never speak of a power he could not wield, never boast of an art beyond his reach. If he said he could do this, then he could. The others might whisper, sneer, or laugh, but Lira kept her faith as firm as steel, her quiet confidence hidden away where no one else could see it.

Nyx, however, sat beside her mother in a silence that betrayed none of her storming thoughts. Her hands rested upon her lap, fingers intertwined so tightly they nearly trembled. Though her face was composed and her back straight, inside she felt a rising unease, a fragile knot of nerves that threatened to unravel her calm. She knew all too well what was at stake. Lucas's success or failure here was not a matter of pride, not a simple test of ability to win favor with the court. His success could alter everything, could shape the path that her life would take. And his failure, she dared not linger on that thought for long.

The more she tried to steady herself, the more her heart refused her command. It thudded heavily within her chest, betraying her. Her lips parted as though she meant to take in a calming breath, but the tightness in her throat made the act difficult. She prayed no one noticed the tension in her eyes or the slight tremor in her fingers.

But Prince Darius noticed.

Sitting not far from her, his sharp gaze drifted from Lucas at the center of the chamber to the princess at his side. He studied her with a quiet intensity, noting the faint change in her complexion, the stiffness of her posture. A frown touched his brow, though he said nothing at first. At last, leaning slightly toward her, he murmured low enough that only she could hear, "You look troubled. What is it? Are you unwell?"

Nyx straightened at once, forcing a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "It is nothing," she replied softly, shaking her head as though to dismiss his concern. "Perhaps I am merely tired… or feeling slightly unwell."

Yet even as she said it, her words felt hollow in her mouth. She knew the truth, what she felt was not weariness nor ailment, but dread. Dread because the boy standing in the center of the chamber, facing the king and council, was the one upon whom her fate now rested. His success could mean her salvation. His failure could condemn her. And though she kept her lips sealed, the truth pressed heavily against her heart: her nervousness had nothing to do with her own body and everything to do with Lucas.