The clearing behind the waterfall shimmered with ancient light. Runes pulsed beneath the mossy stone, and the air itself vibrated with something older than time.
Lucian stood frozen, staring at the glowing spatial ring now floating above his open palm.
Then came the voice again—deep, raspy, and aged with wisdom no mortal could possess.
"It was you, boy… You awakened me."
Luke's hand trembled. "Who are you?"
"Me? My name is Michael. That is all you need to know."
"But now that I've awoken… I have questions."
The voice wasn't hostile—but it carried the weight of command. A presence ancient, like a slumbering god stirring.
"Tell me, boy… are you a descendant of the Supreme Martial Sect?"
Luke blinked. "The… Supreme Martial Sect? I've never heard of it."
The voice paused.
"You… don't know? How did you even find this place?"
"This relic… this dimension… it belongs to my sect!"
Luke took a breath and told the truth.
He explained everything.
How his clan had stumbled upon this relic long ago. How they were driven to near extinction and had used this place to hide. How his father, Tristan Valerion, had been the one to discover it, unable to awaken its full secrets.
As Luke spoke, the glowing ring floated down and hummed with every word, resonating with the truth.
Silence followed. Then Michael's voice returned, filled with mourning.
"So… that means… the Supreme Martial Sect is gone. My home… gone."
He sighed heavily.
"Boy… you said you're only Rank 3?"
"That's… about average. Promising, but not exceptional."
Luke nodded slightly, humbled.
But then the ring began to glow.
"Hmm. Let me see… Let me truly see."
A wave of invisible force swept over Lucian's body. It felt like a dozen hands peeling back the layers of his soul.
Michael's voice turned sharp, almost stunned.
"Wait… Impossible."
"You… have a Divine Physique? Divine Bloodline?!"
"And those eyes… those are the Sacred Eyes… Top 10 in all of existence!"
Lucian staggered. "Wait… What?!"
"How is this possible?" the voice muttered. "Those were supposed to be myths… even in my time."
"No wonder the ring reacted to you…"
Luke could barely process what he heard. "I… I was crippled until a few days ago…"
Michael went quiet.
Then—he laughed.
A deep, thunderous, proud laugh that echoed through the ancient clearing like the roar of a dragon awakening from slumber.
"HAHAHA! This is fate. This is destiny!"
"Boy—no, Lucian Valerion… do you want to become my disciple?"
Luke's eyes widened.
Michael's voice grew serious, his tone low and ancient.
"I possess the knowledge of millions of years. Countless arts, lost to time. I know where to find ancient treasures, where to harvest divine fruits, where to awaken bloodlines and heal broken clans."
"Your family? Those injured elders? Give me ten to fifteen years, and they'll all be healed. Stronger than ever."
Luke didn't even hesitate.
"Yes. I accept."
"Good. Good!" Michael cried, his voice trembling with excitement.
"From this moment on… you are my disciple."
The ring floated down and settled on Luke's finger, shrinking to fit perfectly.
The runes around the clearing dimmed.
The illusion faded.
And in the distance, the sound of thunder echoed—though the skies were clear.
Michael's voice whispered in his mind.
"Now, my disciple… let us begin your true training."
Lucian turned away from the waterfall.
And walked forward.
Not as a cripple.
Not as a forgotten son of a dying clan.
But as the disciple of an ancient master… and the twin of the blade fated to stand with his brother once more.