Bill opened his single eye at 5:00 AM sharp. His biological clock, honed by years of waking up for hunts and school bells, needed no alarm. He lay there for a moment, the warmth of the duvet heavy on his chest, listening to the soft, rhythmic breathing of his household.
To his left, Sarah slept on her stomach, one arm thrown possessively over his waist. Her breathing was deep, a low, contented sound that occasionally hitched into a snore. To the right, in the trundle bed, the triplets were a jumble of small limbs and messy hair. Jory was murmuring something about "big dogs" in his sleep, while Elara had kicked her blanket off entirely.
Bill carefully lifted Sarah's arm, replacing himself with a pillow. She stirred, nuzzling the fabric, her subconscious accepting the trade.
He slid out of bed, his feet touching the cold floorboards. The chill grounded him. He moved to the small rug in the center of the room, sitting cross-legged in the lotus position.
Ideally, a Soul Master meditated to gather energy from the surroundings. But Bill's new understanding—the "memories" of physics and biology—had changed his perspective. He wasn't just gathering; he was circulating.
He closed his eye.
Breath in. Expand the diaphragm. Oxygenate the blood.
In the darkness of his inner vision, he didn't just see the abstract white mist of Soul Power. He saw the bio-electric network of his nervous system. He saw the ley lines of his meridians acting like copper wiring.
Rank 41. The bottleneck is loose.
Usually, moving from Rank 41 to 42 took a talented master six months. For a mediocrity like Bill, it should have taken two years. But the "Teaching Feedback Loop" from the Celestial Scroll had pumped him full of refined, high-density energy over the last two days.
He didn't force it. He remembered the lesson he taught the children: Flow, don't push.
He visualized his Soul Power not as a river, but as a vibration. He tuned the frequency of his energy to match the natural resonance of his meridians. The resistance vanished. The energy hummed, spinning faster, tighter, compressing into the core of his dantian.
For an hour, he sat like a statue. The pain in his missing eye faded, replaced by the thrum of power. When he opened his eye, the room was slightly brighter, the sun just beginning to bleed over the horizon. He felt lighter. The heaviness that had plagued him since the spider attack was receding, replaced by a coil of potential energy waiting to be sprung.
He dressed silently, grabbed his satchel, and slipped out.
—————
The market was already bustling. Bill moved through the stalls with practiced efficiency. He bought fresh milk, a bag of apples, and a small wooden toy—a bird that flapped its wings when rolled—that he saw at a tinkerer's stall.
He told himself the toy was for Kael's son, Lucas. A distraction.
He arrived at the green door in the eastern district as the city clock chimed seven. The fear that had gripped him yesterday—the guilt of the physical transgression—was still there, but he tamped it down. He had to be stable. If he fell apart, they fell apart.
He knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
"Bill."
It was Jenny. The transformation from yesterday was subtle but significant. She was dressed in a clean, simple blue dress. Her hair was brushed and tied back in a neat bun. The dark circles under her eyes were still there, but the manic, haunted look was gone, replaced by a fragile composure.
"Good morning," Bill said, his voice steady. He held up the bag. "Apples. And milk."
"Come in," she stepped aside.
The smell of the house had changed. The windows were open, letting in the cool morning air. The scent of stale grief had been scrubbed away with lemon and vinegar. The living room was tidy.
Lucas and Mia were sitting at the small kitchen table, eating the rice porridge Bill had bought yesterday. When they saw him, their faces lit up.
"Uncle Bill!" Lucas cheered, his mouth full.
"Swallow before you speak, Luke," Jenny chided gently, though she offered Bill a small, wavering smile.
Bill walked over and placed the wooden bird on the table. "Found this on the way. Thought it might need a pilot."
Lucas's eyes went wide. He grabbed the toy, immediately rolling it across the table, delighting in the flapping wings. Little Mia giggled, clapping her hands.
For a moment, the house felt normal.
Jenny walked Bill to the door a few minutes later. They stood on the porch, the unspoken memory of yesterday's frantic encounter hanging between them like a thick fog.
She looked at his chest, then up to his single eye. Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn't look away.
"We are okay," she said softly. "Because of you. We are okay for today."
"I'm glad," Bill said. He wanted to say more. He wanted to apologize, or explain, or ask if she regretted it. But he saw the set of her jaw. She was holding onto her dignity with both hands. To bring it up would be to shatter the illusion that she was coping.
"I'll check in tomorrow," Bill said.
"You don't have to come every day, Bill. You have a family," she said, though her eyes begged him not to stop.
"I have a route," he lied smoothly. "It's on the way to the academy."
She nodded, accepting the lie. "Thank you. For the food. For… pulling me out of the dark."
Bill nodded once, adjusted his eyepatch, and walked away. He didn't look back. He couldn't. The pull to turn around and play the protector was too strong, and he had a classroom of thirty children waiting for him.
—————
The Greenwood Academy felt different today. As Bill walked through the hallways, he noticed students whispering. When he passed, they straightened up.
News traveled fast in a school. The "One-Eyed Teacher" who taught "Secret Techniques" was the flavor of the week.
When he entered Classroom 3-B, the noise level dropped to zero instantly. Thirty students sat at their desks, spines straight, eyes locked on him. There was no slouching. No passing notes.
They were hungry.
"Good morning," Bill said, placing his satchel on the podium.
"Good morning, Teacher Bill!" the class chanted in unison, their voices echoing with a vigor that startled him.
Bill scanned the room. He activated his Analysis skill for a split second. The violet light in his eye flared.
He saw their auras. They were brighter than two days ago. The flow of their weak soul power was smoother. Jonas, the shield boy, was practically vibrating with confidence.
"Today," Bill began, writing a single word on the chalkboard.
RESONANCE.
"We have discussed Kinetic Force. We have discussed Flow," Bill turned to them. "Today, we discuss the relationship between your Soul and the World."
He walked down the aisle, stopping at the desk of a girl named Clara. She had a Spirit called the Echo Flute. It was a sonic-type tool spirit, generally considered weak for combat, mostly used for support or distraction.
"Clara, summon your flute."
She did. A silvery, translucent flute appeared in her hands.
"Play a note," Bill ordered. "High C."
She blew. A clear, sharp sound pierced the room. Tweeeet.
"Good. Now," Bill picked up a crystal water glass from his desk. He held it up. "Clara, I want you to break this glass with your sound."
The class murmured. That was impossible for a Rank 9 Spirit Scholar.
"I… I can't, Teacher," Clara stammered. "My soul power isn't strong enough to create a shockwave."
"You don't need a shockwave," Bill said, his eye gleaming. "You need the right frequency. Everything in this world vibrates. This glass vibrates. If you match its hum, you don't need power. You just need persistence."
He tapped the glass. It gave a faint ping.
"Listen to the ping," Bill whispered. "Feel the pitch in your bones. Don't play at the glass. Play into the glass. Match it."
Clara closed her eyes. She focused. She blew into the flute again. The sound was different this time—wavering, searching.
"Higher," Bill coached, watching the energy waves with his Analysis. "Little more… there. Hold that."
The glass in Bill's hand began to tremble. The water inside rippled.
The class watched, breathless.
Clara poured her meager soul power into that single, sustained note. The vibration intensified. The glass shook violently.
CRACK.
The goblet shattered in Bill's hand, shards raining onto the floor.
Silence. Then, an explosion of gasps.
Clara opened her eyes, staring at the shards in disbelief. "I… I did that?"
"Physics," Bill said, dusting glass off his palm. "Resonance. A small force, applied at the perfect frequency, leads to catastrophic failure of the target."
He looked at the class. "This applies to swords. To shields. To fire. To muscles. If you strike a shield at the exact moment it vibrates from the user's heartbeat, it shatters. If you burn oxygen at the rate the wind feeds it, you create a firestorm."
"Don't fight the world," Bill said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The world is bigger than you. Hack it. Find the frequency, and you can break things ten times your size."
The lesson that followed was electric. Bill wasn't just teaching them to be Soul Masters; he was teaching them to be assassins of reality. He taught them to listen, to observe, to find the weak point—the "shatter point"—and strike.
By the end of the day, the students weren't just excited. They were empowered. In a world where lineage and raw power usually dictated one's fate, Bill had given them a key to the back door.
—————
The final bell rang. The students filed out, bowing deeply to him as they left.
Bill sat in his chair, exhausted but exhilarated.
He felt the vibration in his soul realm again. He summoned the Celestial Scroll.
It hovered before him, the golden light almost blinding.
[Teaching Session Complete.][Subject: Harmonic Resonance / Structural Integrity.][Audience Receptivity: Maximum.][Calculated Impact: Paradigm Shift detected in 4 students.]
The numbers scrolled rapidly.
[Soul Power Density: +1.8%.][Accumulated Experience Threshold Reached.]
A soft click echoed deep within his body. It felt like a lock tumbling into place.
The energy in his body surged, expanded, and then settled, denser and more profound than before.
[Current Rank: 42 (Soul Ancestor).]
Bill let out a long breath, leaning back.
Rank 42.
He had done it. In three days, he had achieved what should have taken years. The Scroll was feeding off the enlightenment of his students and funneling it back to him.
"Teacher Bill?"
A sharp voice interrupted his reverie.
Bill dismissed the scroll instantly, the rings fading beneath his feet. He looked up.
Standing in the doorway was Teacher Mia. She was a stern woman in her forties, a Rank 44 Soul Ancestor with a Water Whip spirit. She was known for being strict, the disciplinarian of the school.
"Teacher Mia," Bill nodded respectfully. "What can I do for you?"
She walked in, her heels clicking on the stone floor. She looked at the shattered glass on the floor, then at the complex diagrams of waveforms on the chalkboard. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"I heard the commotion," she said, her voice cool. "Breaking glass with a Rank 9 flute? Impressive trick."
"Fundamental mechanics," Bill shrugged.
Mia studied him. "You've changed, Bill. Since the accident. You used to be… quieter."
"I lost an eye, Mia. It wakes you up."
"I suppose it does." She crossed her arms. "I came to ask a favor. With Kael gone… his class, Year 4, is currently running on substitutes. It's chaotic. The Director is looking for a replacement, but until then…"
"You want me to take them," Bill finished.
"You and I can split the load," Mia said. "I take mornings, you take afternoons. It's double the work. But the Director authorized double pay."
Bill's heart skipped a beat. Year 4. Older kids. Rank 11 to 14. They had their first rings. Their spirits were evolved.
If he could teach them… if he could analyze their skills…
The feedback from the Scroll would be even greater.
"I'll do it," Bill said without hesitation.
Mia looked surprised by his quick acceptance. "Are you sure? With your injury… and your family?"
"My family needs the money," Bill said simply. "And the kids need a teacher."
Mia nodded slowly. "Very well. Start tomorrow. And Bill? Whatever you're doing… keep doing it. I saw Clara in the hallway. She looked like she could fight a dragon."
—————
Bill walked home with a spring in his step that belied his fatigue.
Rank 42. Double pay. A second class.
The wheel of fate was turning, and for the first time, Bill felt like he was the one pushing it.
When he entered his house, the smell of roasted chicken greeted him.
"Daddy!"
The triplets attacked. This time, he was ready.
He dropped his satchel and scooped up Jory and Finn, one in each arm, spinning them around. They shrieked with laughter. Elara latched onto his leg.
"Alright, monsters, down!" he laughed, setting them gently on the floor.
Sarah walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. She looked tired but smiled when she saw them.
"You're in a good mood," she noted, coming over to kiss his cheek.
"Good day at school," Bill said, the scent of her hair grounding him. "I got a promotion of sorts. Covering Kael's class."
Sarah's smile faltered slightly at Kael's name, but she squeezed his arm. "That's… that's good, Bill. Hard work, though."
"We can handle it."
After dinner, instead of letting the kids run wild or watch the puppet show in the square, Bill gathered them in the backyard.
"New game," Bill announced.
The triplets lined up, intrigued.
"It's called 'Statue'," Bill said. He crouched down. "But a special kind of statue. You have to stand like this."
He demonstrated a stance. It wasn't a standard martial arts stance. It was a pose derived from the "memories"—a Horse Stance designed to align the spine and open the hip meridians.
"Knees bent. Back straight. Arms out holding a heavy invisible ball," Bill instructed.
"This is hard!" Finn complained after ten seconds, his legs shaking.
"Statues don't talk," Bill teased. "Hold it. Feel the burn in your legs? That's your power waking up."
He walked around them, adjusting a shoulder here, a hip there. He wasn't just playing. He was preparing their bodies. Their Awakening Ceremony was weeks away. If he could clear their meridians now, widen their channels through physical stress and alignment, their starting Soul Power might be higher.
Sarah watched from the back porch, leaning against the doorframe. She watched her husband, the man who had come home broken three days ago, now commanding the yard with a strange, intense charisma.
He looked stronger. His shoulders were broader. Even with the eyepatch, he looked less like a victim and more like… a wolf.
After thirty minutes, the kids collapsed, sweaty and groaning but laughing. Bill chased them inside for bath time.
Once the house was finally quiet, the children asleep, Bill went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.
He felt arms snake around his waist from behind.
"Sarah?"
She pressed herself against his back. He could feel the heat radiating off her.
"You were amazing with them tonight," she whispered, her lips grazing the sensitive skin of his neck. "You've been… different. Intense."
Bill turned around in her arms. Sarah looked up at him. Her eyes, usually soft and maternal, were dark. Her pupils were dilated.
She was a Level 32 Spirit Elder. Her spirit was the Faithful Hound. It gave her enhanced senses, loyalty, and stamina. But like all beast spirits, it had instincts.
"It's been two weeks, Bill," she murmured, her hands sliding down his chest to grip his belt. "Since before the hunt."
The guilt of the morning flashed in Bill's mind. Jenny's desperate, tearful face. The stolen, frantic moment.
But looking at Sarah, his wife, the mother of his children, he felt a different kind of pull. This wasn't pity. This wasn't grief. This was a bond forged over ten years of struggle and love.
And she was demanding him.
"Sarah," he groaned as she pushed him backward, guiding him not toward the bedroom, but toward the pantry—a small, secluded room where the kids wouldn't hear.
"Shh," she silenced him with a kiss that was hungry and possessive. She bit his lower lip, just hard enough to sting. "You smell like the city. You smell like work. I don't care. I need you."
She didn't know about Jenny. Or maybe, with her heightened senses, she smelled a faint trace of another woman's soap and was reclaiming her territory instinctively.
Bill didn't fight it. His blood, already humming from the breakthrough to Rank 42, caught fire.
He lifted her up, her legs wrapping instantly around his waist. He pinned her against the pantry door, the jars of preserves rattling on the shelves.
"Two weeks is too long," Bill growled, burying his face in her neck.
Sarah gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Show me," she whispered fiercely. "Show me you're still here. Show me you're alive."
The night air in the kitchen was cool, but in the small pantry, the heat rose fast. Bill let go of the teacher, the schemer, the physicist. He let the man take over—the husband who had almost died and was desperate to prove to his body that it still belonged to this world.
As they moved together in the dark, frantic and passionate, Bill's mind finally went blank. No scrolls. No spiders. No looming wars.
Just Sarah. Just this.
But deep in his soul realm, the Celestial Scroll glowed faintly, recording even this.
[Vitality surging.][Emotional anchor reinforced.][Host condition: Stabilizing.]
Survival wasn't just about fighting. It was about living. And tonight, Bill lived.