Cyril’s eyes widened at the mention of such a priceless treasure.

It couldn’t have come from Behemoth’s main body, of course. Cyril assumed it had disappeared or somehow merged with his soul during the bonding process. Someone would have mentioned if the Titan of Earth’s corpse had been discovered, and he’d seen nothing more than footprints in the area where he had awakened after their bonding. Such a colossal body would have been impossible to hide.

The idea that countless tons of divine stone had somehow been squeezed into his own body seemed absurd, but it seemed like the most obvious answer.

Some theories regarding the underlying metaphysics behind spiritual bonds asserted that the energy of spirits was more pure and efficient than qi. Utilizing them converted their very being into qi or physical manifestations, so in a way, he was exhausting Behemoth’s very existence to fuel his cultivation. Fortunately, spirits naturally regenerated themselves, and the mathematical efficiency behind the conversion was so high that it would be a long time before he could potentially whittle down a fraction of Behemoth.

Since the fragment couldn’t have belonged to the Titan’s main body, it must have been dislodged or shed at some point prior to their bond. While he had some doubts about its authenticity, the existence of external shards or pieces of the Titans was not unheard of. There were rumors of blessed altars consisting of one of Leviathan’s scales, or a splinter of Behemoth. A number of legendary relics were purported to be derived from one of the Titans. While many of the claims were likely false, some of their more violent clashes must have left behind divine materials in the past.

“Let’s go get it, then,” said Cyril.

Loras remained silent, his pose giving off a vague sense of contemplation--the carved irises within his eyes downcast, chin slightly tilted.

Elys scoffed. “I’m not surprised. Well, I’ll take you there myself.”

Before standing up, Cyril selected a pill from his spatial ring called Four Seasons Tribulation. While the Water and Air qi would be wasted under normal circumstances, he had several experiments he wanted to conduct now that he was in relatively safe territory. He extracted it directly into his hand, leaving its ornate container behind, and popped the multicolored pill into his mouth.

“You may want to sit down while absorbing that,” said Elys.

Cyril waved her off and stood up. Loras tossed the spear back to its proper owner, and with a flex of his will, Cyril stored it within his ring.

Elys pursed her lips expectantly, and indeed, a second later, the pill dissolved into a miasma of conflicting violent energies within Cyril. A storm of elemental qi rushed through his channels and battered at his core. He stumbled, supported himself against the table, as the pill proved the Tribulation part of its name true.

He closed his eyes, imagining various scenes of resilience and fortitude: the tree from his Third Sphere of Earth breakthrough, purifying the desolate world around it, patiently overwhelming the poisons that sought to taint its roots; Visions of Behemoth shrugging off devastating blows and conceptual obliteration; even his mental recreation of what Elys must have gone through, surviving Leviathan’s attack through reincarnation.

Some upstart pill couldn’t compare to such terrible ordeals.

Many times during his journey, Cyril had cracked and broken his channels. And while he had lost most of the spiritual function in his right arm from overexerting himself against Hunger-Made-Alive, the other instances had led to those areas regenerating so that they were stronger than before, much like physical conditioning tore down the body and built it back up. As the elemental qi surged throughout his body, it found itself trapped within his unyielding channels, all of their former weaknesses scarred over.

Earth qi poured into his core, and the Fire qi into his Heart; the rest continued to surge through his body like a tempest. Instead of forcing the incompatible qi into an inefficient conversion, he circulated the pattern for one of his least utilized abilities: Purify.

Directing the Cantrip into his own channels was made trivial by the presence of foreign energies rampaging throughout his body. With his full attention already focused upon his spirit, rousing his own qi against it couldn’t have felt more natural. Wherever it made contact, it merged with the Water and Air qi and converted it into pure energy. He was pleased to note the entropic loss was minimal. His own qi was exhausted as a catalyst in the process, but he had plenty to spare.

Using the Cantrip against his own foundational impurities would have been a laborious process. Refining invasive alchemical qi was a whole other matter. Soon, he was left with rivers of pure qi coursing through his channels. Having already finished its meal of Fire qi, his gluttonous Heart attempted to siphon off some dessert. Though the spiritual organ itself hadn’t visibly grown, the Sun qi trickling out radiated with deeper intensity than before. Maybe next time, I’ll see what you can do with a proper investment.

Cyril redirected the pure energy toward his core and began the process of circulating the viscous sludge of his aspected qi. Moving into the Late Condensation Stage was, theoretically, much the same as his previous breakthrough into the Middle: compress his internal qi until it completely refilled his core with energy from the next qualitative realm. The process was far more resource intensive compared to before, but now he had a dragon’s hoard of alchemical supplements within his grasp.

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The purified energy from the pill merged with his circulating qi, expanding the quantity to a degree that more than compensated for the energy lost in its creation. After a while, the refinement of his internal qi became routine enough for him to withdraw his sole focus from the process.

Elys and Loras stared at him with annoyed faces.

Cyril scratched his chin. “How long was that?”

“Five minutes,” said Elys. “Not much, but it’s awkward standing around waiting for you. That pill cost more than the yearly operations of a small tribe, you know. Why did you just randomly swallow it if you aren’t even going to meditate on it? And if your spirit is the same as mine, it requires a disgusting investment to advance. That alone won’t do it.”

“I figured,” said Cyril. “I’m priming myself.”

“For what?”

“Absorbing the fragment, of course.”

Elys sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. After a few seconds, she shook her head and suddenly looked a bit more cheerful. “He’s not going to like that.”

Cyril frowned. “Who?”

She refused to answer further and left the room, her guards falling in beside her. Cyril glanced at Loras, who shrugged and followed her as well.

Alone in the room, Cyril quickly detached the plates of bronze armor from his body until he was nude. He changed into his tunic and slippers, then reattached the armor, once more fusing it to his body. The layer of expensive underclothing made the whole arrangement infinitely more comfortable. He sighed in relief. Before leaving, he disguised his face beneath another simple mask to complete the ensemble.

Once more, the others offered him annoyed glances once he finally left the room. They departed the Celestial Hall in silence. Still, even their palpable irritation felt good-natured. Coming home had already begun to heal some of the cracks that had formed in his psyche during his journey. Those wounds tended to be far more insidious than torn flesh or cracked channels.

To his surprise, Elys didn’t lead them to the treasure hall. Instead, they headed in the direction of the Scholarium. One of the largest buildings of the central compound, the campus of green stone served as arguably the most respectable institute of learning within the desert. The Library that he was originally destined to run was housed within one of its wings.

The place hadn’t changed much since the last time Cyril had been there. Fountains of burbling water provided ostentatious decoration--a luxury almost unheard of in the desert. Statues depicting various historical figures and renowned family members populated the grounds in greater numbers than the students themselves. Classes must have been in session.

Approaching the main building caused a small conflict within Cyril’s heart. He hadn’t spent much time there in his youth, having mostly been taught by private tutors, but he’d attended the occasional lecture. Though he couldn’t say he had been particularly lonely, he had often dreamed of attending the classes there and mingling with others his age who weren’t family.

Such silly dreams now seemed like a world away.

As always, everyone stared at their strange little group as they passed. They made it into the building unopposed. A few people even went out of their way to hurry out of their path and prostrate themselves on the ground. Cyril scratched his jaw beneath the mask, feeling rather awkward.

They soon came to a stop in front of one of the classrooms, lingering in the open doorway. Unlike some of the grand western academies their Scholarium was modeled after, the lecture halls were not particularly large. Only around thirty students filled the seats, all of them intently focused on the man standing at the podium.

Cyril clenched his fist, his Heart flaring. Not with anger--joy.

His father, Anand, looked almost exactly the same as he remembered. Laughter lines cutting deep around his eyes, strong features, broad shoulders straining the fabric of his tunic. His stark white hair and beard somehow made him look even younger and more exuberant, contrasting against his tanned skin and vibrant brown eyes. Their mother had always joked that his voice and his appearance had won her over more than anything else. Despite all the awkward groaning from the rest of the family whenever she mentioned it, there was probably more than a little truth behind her teasing.

“Ah, we made it a bit early, or he’s running a bit late,” said Elys.

Indeed, they could hear Anand’s voice echoing throughout the lecture hall from where they stood--a deep, rambling baritone that demanded attention. Cyril was content to let the familiar tones wash over him, just as they had when he was a child, listening to his father read out hefty tomes far beyond his ability to understand at the time.

This relaxing trance lasted for a scant few seconds before the first students began to notice their presence and point them out. Whispers spread through the class at the sight of Elys. Motes of Phoenix qi winked in and out of existence throughout the class, drawing more eyes.

“Well, I suppose that’s all for today, then,” said Anand. “I have to discipline my daughter to teach her not to interrupt future lectures. Wish me luck!”

Uneasy laughter rippled through the students. They hurriedly packed their belongings and rushed out of the class, as if fleeing from some incoming calamity. As they passed by, sneaking glances at Elys and occasionally sparing a bit of curiosity for the armored cultivators at her side, Cyril got the feeling that they weren’t actually scared. They’d instead all been rushing to get a glimpse of Elys up close. A weird and mundane feeling seized Cyril’s heart--jealousy. It was so childish, so natural, that he wanted to laugh.

Elys’ guards swept out to ensure that none of the students lingered behind to intrude on their conversation. After a couple muffled complaints, the area cleared out. Only then did Anand emerge from his classroom, hands on his hips, to stand before his daughter.

“Well, you’ve finally come to visit your old man.” Anand fished a pair of spectacles from his tunic’s breast pocket and pushed them onto the bridge of his nose. They looked absurdly small on him. Rings of golden runes flared along the lenses as he examined Cyril and Loras. “New friends?”

Cyril’s mouth had never felt so parched. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Something like that,” said Elys. She extended a hand in Cyril’s direction. “You know that priceless relic you’ve been so obsessed with? This guy wants to absorb it.”