Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Lucas's gaze swept the chamber once more, and for the briefest of moments, it lingered upon Nyx. He could see it clearly now, the tension running through her, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands trembled faintly where they rested in her lap. She tried to appear composed, but her heart betrayed her, and Lucas, more perceptive than most, caught it all. He offered her nothing elaborate, no gesture that would draw unwanted attention, only a steady look, calm, resolute, and certain. His eyes told her what his lips did not: trust me.

The effect was immediate. Though faint, he noticed her breath soften, the tautness in her posture easing just a little, as though the storm inside her had been soothed. It was enough, for now.

The silence that followed settled heavily upon the hall. No more mutters or scoffs rose from the elders, no whispers darted between attendants. It was the kind of silence that carried anticipation, thick and pressing, as though the chamber itself waited to see if what was promised would truly unfold.

Lucas did not prolong it. He had never been one for theatrics when his resolve was set. Without any grand display of aura, without chants, flourishes, or pretensions, he simply lifted his hand and stretched it forward into the empty air before him. His movements were precise and brimming with quiet confidence. Then, with a deliberate push of his will, the fabric of space yielded beneath his command.

The air in front of him cracked with a sound that was not quite thunder, not quite tearing cloth, but something both powerful and distinctive. A jagged line appeared where there had been nothing, light bending and warping at its edges, until the line widened into a rift, a doorway of shifting shadows and spiraling currents. The spatial tear pulsed with unstable brilliance, its edges quivering like molten glass, yet it held, firm and undeniable.

Gasps rang through the chamber. The gathered elders who had moments ago mocked him now leaned forward, their eyes wide with astonishment. The laughter that had filled their throats turned to silence so complete that one could hear the beating of a heart, the faint shuffle of a robe.

Even the king, whose composure rarely wavered no matter how grave the matter, rose almost halfway from his throne, his hands gripping its carved arms as though to steady himself. His eyes blazed with incredulous wonder, the disbelief in them battling against the undeniable truth that shimmered before him.

Across the chamber, Lira pressed a hand against her chest, her grin no longer hidden but radiant, her heart swelling with pride until she thought it might burst. To her, this was no surprise, for she had always believed in him, always known he would make good on his words. Still, the sight moved her deeply, and her eyes shone with a mixture of joy and fierce devotion.

Henrietta, seated near the king, allowed herself a small smile as well, her voice slipping out in a murmur meant more for herself than anyone else. "He keeps doing the impossible," she whispered, her eyes never leaving the tear. "Every time, he defies the limits set before him. He is full of surprises."

The king's lips parted ever so slightly, his breath quickening. For all his years, for all the countless moments of triumph and despair he had seen in the throne room, this was something wholly new, wholly extraordinary. The implications thundered through his mind, the wars that could be fought differently, the alliances that could be forged, the looming shadows of enemies that could be answered with powers once thought out of reach. A shiver of excitement coursed through him, his hands trembling faintly upon the throne's arms.

And then, from the corner of his vision, a sudden movement drew every eye.

Nyx, who had sat stiff and silent with dread moments before, leapt up from her chair. Relief washed across her features, transforming them from stone to sunlight, and for the first time in memory, her guarded mask fell completely. A cheer burst from her lips, bright and unrestrained, the sound carrying through the chamber like a song. Her joy was raw, almost childlike, her voice breaking free of the chains of composure that usually bound her every word and gesture.

Those present exchanged startled looks. None had ever seen the princess so unrestrained, so carefree, her delight spilling openly into the hall. They could not understand why she of all people rejoiced so fervently at the sight of a tear in space. But she knew. She alone understood the weight that had been lifted, the bond of hope that had just been forged anew.

Lucas allowed the astonishment of the chamber to linger for a few moments, letting the weight of the sight sink into their minds. The tear rippled faintly before him, unstable but held together by the sheer strength of his will and his calculations. He turned slowly, his eyes sweeping across the gathered faces, until finally his gaze fixed upon the throne. The king was still leaning forward, his knuckles white against the carved wood, his eyes locked on the phenomenon as though he feared it might vanish if he dared to blink.

With calm steadiness, Lucas began to speak, his voice carrying clear and strong despite the swirling hum of the rift before him. "Your Majesty, this is what I have labored upon for days. A manipulation of the very threads of existence, the bending of space itself into a passage. I call it a spatial tear. To most it is a danger, something unstable, untouchable, a risk that swallows anyone foolish enough to enter. But to those who understand its laws, to those who master the balance of Qi and the comprehension of spatial principles, it becomes a tunnel, a bridge from one place to another."

He lifted his hand, palm outstretched toward the rift, and the currents of energy swirled like a storm tethered to his command. "It is not yet perfect. The stability must be enforced, and the timing must be exact. Enter too slowly, and it collapses. Force it open without care, and it implodes. But once stabilized and fully mastered… it can transfer a man across any distance in the blink of an eye. No gates, no roads, no messengers riding for days. Only a step."

The murmurs of the court began again, hushed voices whispering to one another as the magnitude of his words struck them. Some still wore disbelief upon their faces, others awe, but all were captivated.

Without breaking stride, Lucas moved toward the tear. The rippling edges flared brighter as he neared, responding to his presence. He paused only once, turning his head to the king, his expression calm. "What you see now is only the beginning. But even this beginning is enough to change how kingdoms move, how wars are fought, and how alliances are shaped."

And then, without hesitation, he stepped forward.

The chamber collectively held its breath as his form vanished into the shifting vortex. The rift shimmered once, then sealed with a sound like air being drawn inward. For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Doubt flickered across the faces of a few elders, some daring to think that perhaps he had been swallowed whole by his own creation.

But before such thoughts could take root, a second tear ripped open across the hall, this one forming with even greater speed, its jagged light splitting the air directly in front of Elder Aryn. The man who had mocked him, who had snarled warnings and dismissed his words, now found himself face-to-face with the impossible.

Lucas emerged from the rift in perfect composure, his steps unhurried, his robes barely disturbed by the distortion of space. He stood tall, his eyes level, and when he raised them, he fixed his gaze squarely upon Aryn.

The chamber was deathly quiet as Lucas stared at the elder who had doubted him most, his silence carrying more weight than any words ever could.

Elder Aryn had not yet found the words to speak when Lucas tilted his head slightly, the faintest suggestion of a smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes betrayed no arrogance. He lifted his hand again, the air around him distorting as if reality itself bowed to his will. Before anyone could truly understand what he intended, the chamber filled with the sound of splitting air.

Another tear erupted near the high pillars, shimmering like glass fractured by unseen force, and in the blink of an eye Lucas stepped into it and vanished. Gasps filled the hall, nobles and courtiers leaning forward in disbelief, when almost instantly he appeared again, this time near the opposite side, close to the arched doors that led to the council wing.

And before their eyes could even follow, he was gone once more.

A second later he emerged near the balcony that overlooked the training courtyard, the rift closing as quickly as it had opened. The spectators rose to their feet, craning their necks, their eyes wide with both fear and fascination. Elders who had lived lifetimes in pursuit of cultivation's highest mysteries could only clutch at their robes in stunned silence as the boy they had mocked only moments ago now danced through the very fabric of the world.

One after another, the tears blossomed like cracks in glass, each time disgorging Lucas's figure before sealing behind him with a low, thunderous hum. It was not teleportation they were witnessing, it was mastery over presence itself, as though the chamber no longer bound him. In the space of mere seconds he had appeared beside the queen's dais, then near the grand stairway, and then once more before the astonished assembly of elders.

The onlookers could scarcely keep track, their eyes darting helplessly, their minds unable to comprehend how one so young could command such a terrifying gift. Each step seemed faster, sharper, the space around him bending to his will as naturally as water answered gravity.

And then, without warning, the final rift tore open directly at the foot of the throne itself. Lucas stepped out in utter composure, his dark gaze lifting to meet the king's.