Returning Home, A illness, A Past

The late afternoon had already made its presence known in the sky. The daily noises of the city were gradually subsiding, and some people were leaving work to return home in search of well-deserved rest.

At the gate of the Free Feathers Martial Arts School, Kizaer waited for Ciona. After the combat classes in the Martial Pavilion, students would receive additional instructions if necessary; otherwise, they would be dismissed directly.

Kizaer spotted Ciona walking toward him and waved happily to his friend. He was partly relieved not to wait any longer for his companion and partly eager to head home.

"My apologies for the delay," Ciona said to Kizaer. "I needed to adjust the focus of my academic lessons to specific areas."

In the Knowledge Pavilion, students could choose their specialized field of study, provided they submitted their requests on the first day of class, without disrupting the course throughout the year.

"No problem," Kizaer replied. "Let's go home; I'm famished." With a positive nod, they set off walking. Kizaer and Ciona's homes were located in the southern district of the city, so the two friends would share part of the journey home every day.

After walking for some time, they had crossed the entire western district and were now entering the southern district of the city. Kizaer turned to Ciona and said, "Ciona, would you like to come to my place? Aunt Mayare left some fruits she harvested from the field, and there are still some left. We can share them if you'd like."

Ciona shook her head in a negative gesture in response to Kizaer's invitation and said, "Thank you, but no. Today, I need to return home early. My mother's symptoms… They've worsened slightly, nothing to be overly concerned about." Ciona managed a small smile, attempting to conceal her emotions as she thought of her mother. However, the melancholic tone in her voice betrayed her deep concern and long-standing sadness. "but I don't want to leave her alone for too long."

She continued, "My father is likely busy wrapping up the family business for the day, so it's best for me to get back as soon as possible to assist with whatever I can for my mother."

Kizaer felt a pang in his chest. July Han, Ciona's mother, had delicate health, and she had been battling this illness for quite some time. There were moments of improvement, followed by setbacks, and the future remained uncertain.

Feng Han, Ciona's father, had spared no effort in hiring the best doctors to treat his wife, but none of them could pinpoint the diagnosis or create a viable treatment for this persistent ailment.

Forced to wear an open smile, Kizaer said, "Understood, no problem. Please convey my warm regards to Aunt July, and I hope she recovers soon so we can enjoy the delicious wild bird pie she always makes for us." Kizaer was well aware of Ciona's mother's condition, but he couldn't do much to help. Offering comforting words was the least he could do for his friend.

"Okay, Will do, Thank you." Ciona replied, her spirits lifting slightly after her first day of school.

As the duo of friends strolled slowly through the streets of the southern district, another situation unfolded in an office located within one of the residential pagodas of the Free Feather Martial Choice.

Venerable Director Ling sat at his desk, evaluating some reports on the day's events.

Director Ling's office was not luxurious, nor did it contain items that promoted Flow concentration or highlighted Director Ling's social status. By design, the room was simple and rustic, with a hardwood floor adorned with martial symbols along the edges. A large, beautiful desk displayed stacks of documents, and three chairs were arranged—one for Director Ling and two on the opposite side of the desk.

Natural light filled the room during the day, while small light crystals revitalized it at night, creating a pleasant and well-lit environment.

At that moment, Venerable Director Ling was alone. He had just reviewed one of the reports. After stamping his approval and adding some notes, Director Ling moved the report to the stack of completed documents. As he reached for the other stack, he abruptly halted his movement.

Director Ling adjusted himself in his chair. His calm expression gave way to seriousness and gravity as he observed the figure that seemed to materialize near the door on the other side of the room.

The man stood tall, around 6 feet (1.82 meters) in height. His body exuded raw violence and brutality. He wore a sleeveless black martial uniform. The compact muscles in his body hinted at an absurd strength capacity, and his scar-covered arms bore witness to past battles.

The Warrior appeared to be in his 50s. His hair was a mix of black, white, and some vivid crimson strands that stood out between the other two colours.

A notable feature was that the crimson strands seemed to be the natural color of his hair. It was as if the man made an effort, using dyes perhaps, to conceal the striking reddish hue.

"What do you want?" A deep, gruff voice, tinged with the weight of age, echoed in Director Ling's office.

Director Ling didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and intertwining his fingers in front of his mouth. "Tsk, as usual, you take the liberty of simply entering private spaces without regard for people or announcing your arrival. Isn't that right, Bandolen, you old lunatic?" Director Ling expressed clear displeasure at having his office practically invaded.

Bandolen, Kizaer's grandfather, cared little for Director Ling's disapproval or the fact that he'd been called an old lunatic. "You were the one who requested my presence. Keep in mind that I came here only because your lackey used my grandson's name to get my attention. Otherwise, he would have returned to you with a few broken bones for daring to interrupt my training."

Director Ling furrowed his brow and replied, "First of all, the person who sought you out is not one of my 'lackeys.' He's a teacher at the school, and he merely fulfilled a request of mine. I don't give orders to anyone here."

"Secondly, the sole reason I summoned you here is that your grandson nearly killed one of his classmates during combat training."

Bandolen didn't respond immediately, but the indifference and coldness he displayed diminished considerably before he inquired, "What did Kizaer do?" Director Ling observed the change in Bandolen's demeanour and thought to himself before responding, 'This violent old man actually cares about the boy. It's absurd to associate the image of this fierce man with that of a doting grandfather.'

"According to Professor Marcus's report, Kizaer didn't do anything at all." Bandolen furrowed his brow and questioned, "Then how could he have nearly taken another boy's life?"

"Your grandson, during a small training bout, defended against an opponent's strike and broke the boy's hand without hesitation. That alone would have been enough reason to summon you here, but then… Well, the details are in this report." Director Ling gestured with one hand, and a sheet containing the incident report floated magically until it hovered in front of Bandolen.

Bandolen didn't touch the paper but scanned its contents with his eyes. After finishing, he closed his eyes briefly and released a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. In a low voice, he said, "Reflex…"

The sheet returned, floating back to Director Ling's stack of reports. The room fell silent for a few seconds before Director Ling spoke again. "Rymann… We're both just two old things, relics remnants of a distant past. All that carnage and suffering are now chained to the past." He uttered these words without looking at Bandolen, his eyes like cold mirrors reflected memories of dark and painful days that seemed never end.

"Indeed, generations have passed since that accursed era," Director Ling regained his calm demeanour as his gaze returned from wandering through memories of a distant past.

"I don't know what you've been teaching that boy, Rymann, and I'm not sure if I even want to know." Bandolen, who had already opened his eyes, met Director Ling's gaze.

"What you do with yourself is your own business, but allow me to ask this: Is it truly necessary to impart these cruel techniques to the boy? Wouldn't a peaceful and tranquil life be enough for him?" Bandolen remained silent without answering to Director Ling's questions.

The silence lingered for a few more seconds before Director Ling let out a heavy sigh and massaged his forehead with one hand. "Rymann, he's just a boy, and there's nothing connecting him to our past."

Director Ling lowered his hand and raised his face, only to realize that the room was now empty—Bandolen had departed without a word, just as he had appeared.

However, before Director Ling could resume his work, a voice transmission resonated in his ears—an unmistakable voice, that of Bandolen. "Sinon… Our past has broken free from the chains that bound it."

Abruptly, Director Sinon Ling stood up, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt his blood boil. His fists clenched involuntarily as adrenaline heightened his breath, and his cultivation affected the Flow around the room.

Clearly, Sinon Ling was not prepared for those words