The rays of dawn shone upon the land, the moonlight and the starry sky fading. The sky turned red as the sun woke up from its slumber.

Grass and trees were swayed by the gentle yet strong wind while basking in the sunlight, nourishing vastly. Birds chirped alongside each other, while frogs croaked rhythmically, forming a delicate song of nature.

Morning dawned upon the Spring Clan.

Thick stone walls surrounded the town of Spring Clan, with watchtowers at every interval. The walls were seemingly old, having withstood the tribulations of time. Vines and moss grew in the cracks and on the surroundings of the wall, forming a beautiful painting of the man-made structure and nature. The protective walls formed a square shape around the Spring Clan estate, guarding tightly at every corner.

Vast farmland could be seen situated at the peripheries of the estate, accompanied by small buildings. Further into the center of the estate, buildings with one and two stories could be seen, making up shops, restaurants, hotels, and houses. The buildings were arranged beautifully in four main streets leading to one location at the heart of the estate: the Spring Pavilion.

Inside the pavilion, ten elderly people were bowing at the statue that sat in the back of the room. The statue exuded a heroic aura. It depicted a man.

“Our awakening ceremony will commence shortly,” a man spoke, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Hopefully, good seeds will emerge in our clan. We cannot afford to lag behind the Celestine Clan.”

The man’s eyes seemed aged with time, his pupils a light gray. His beard extended to his chest. His long hair was slicked back, reaching the end of his torso. His long-sleeved green robe, with patterns of coiling dragons, gave him a sagely aura. He was Nero, the Spring Clan patriarch.

“Patriarch, it’s a pity that lately there have not been many geniuses aside from the young leader’s generation. But hope is not lost; I’m sure good seeds will emerge this time,” a man behind the patriarch, on his left side, spoke up. He was Cielo, one of the ten elders of the clan.

“It still weighs on us—the death of the young leader. Now the other clans have begun to pressure us slightly; their boldness grows every day,” Nero said with dissatisfaction in his eyes and the burden of his clan.

Silence befell the hall. Nero continued, “I’m afraid that if a good seed does not appear, ultimately, our clan will fall behind, and we will have no other choice but to get annexed. There’s truly not much time left…” His tone was sorrowful and uncertain. His words struck at all the elders present, for if the seat for the patriarch wasn’t adequately passed down, it would only befall catastrophe.

“The Spring Clan is rapidly declining. Looking at the past, the Lampclaw Clan wouldn’t even match us. It is true that we are declining, but with sufficient guidance and resources, even a brute can turn out smart,” an elderly man to the right of Nero spoke up, his voice hoarse and aged. He was Rosen, one of the top elders along with Cielo.

Cielo looked at Rosen from the periphery of his eye, his gaze containing slight hostility.

Nero looked at Cielo, his gaze complicated, but he sighed in his mind. He spoke while gazing at all the elders present: “If there’s no other choice left, then we can only pick up the best we have. As to the lucky one, it will all depend on his abilities.”

“Patriarch is wise.”

“Patriarch is wise.”

Cielo and Rosen both spoke up. The other elders present cast their gaze with slight concern. If such an event were to happen, only these two elders would benefit, shifting the political arrangement of the clan altogether.

After a short while, Nero raised his tone hopefully: “Let us leave the ancestral hall. Surely the heavens will pity us mortals and bestow us a gift.” In his mind, he couldn’t help but feel nothing but worries. The continued state of the clan brought him immense trouble, and he couldn’t help but smile wryly, helpless about what the future would hold.

He motioned the elders to leave the hall with a wave. They bowed slightly before departing.

As the only one left standing there, Nero muttered lowly, “Maybe I’m being too delusional…”

.....

The rays of sunlight radiated the Fang household. The household was in no shape to be called extravagant but not modest either, being a three-story building with a small garden situated at the entrance.

Inside the house, in the dining room, there was a long table that stretched up to twelve feet, holding various wooden seats. The table was riddled with dishes stretching from steak with steamed vegetables to dumplings glistening with broth, and bean soup that radiated a rich aroma throughout the dining room.

At the head seat, a man sat, his middle-aged face apparent. His facial structure was robust with sharp features. His medium-length hair, slicked back, gave an air of professionalism, topped with the simple yet elegant green robe he wore.

At both his right and left sat two middle-aged men who looked similar but starkly differed. The man on the right had flowing black hair that extended to his chest, while the man on the left was completely bald, light shining off his perfectly polished scalp that blinded anyone who dared to look too intensely.

Following the two men, two women sat respectively next to them. Each wore a pair of yellow robes. They ate elegantly, holding their steaks with pinkies raised, while maintaining a dignified air.

Further down the table, three children sat in silence, their heads slightly down as they ate their food, their utensils not making too much noise, careful of the sounds they produced.

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At the sides, four maids stood in attention, their hands clasped neatly right below their pelvis. They moved when necessary, be it filling cups of water or taking bowls and plates away. The head matron stood at the back of the man sitting at the head of the table. She had a more mature air than the other maids.

“Today marks the day when our youth will become a step closer to full-fledged magicians,” the man sitting at the head of the table exclaimed, his gaze shining as he looked at the three youths situated at the table.

“Now, this is some word of advice,” the man said while he looked at the three youths. “Don’t get your hopes down because you think other people are better than you just because of their fissure rank. As long as you continue to live honestly, the heavens will not turn a blind eye to this. It is important to have ambition and yet be realistic. If you are too delusional, you’ll be like a tall tree, easily picked up by the winds and ultimately forgotten by the winds of time.”

“We understand.”

“We understand.”

“We understand.”

The three youths replied in unison.

One of the youths, Jinto, sighed in his mind: “If one does not have grand aspirations, then for what is there to live? Who is the world to tell me what I am or am not capable of?” In his heart, he held the ambitions of the heavens; a mere awakening would not deter him.

“Well added, Teren. Furthermore, it is important to choose your friends wisely and to not cause trouble or make us lose face in public,” the man on the right exclaimed while looking at the youth sitting next to his wife.

“Face this, face that. Ralleire, you care too much about your image. Let the kids have their fun; they are at the peak of their youth. They should be unrestrained and free, you freak,” the bald man exclaimed, poking fun at Ralleire.

“Hmph! As barbaric as always,” Ralleire retaliated. After some quick thinking, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t care about my image either if I started balding at the age of fourteen.”

Suddenly, the table united in laughter. The only one not joining in the fun was the bald man himself. He looked to his side of the table, and even his own kid was laughing. “Why are you laughing? You know it’s hereditary,” he thought in his mind.

“Good atmosphere. Jinto, Melissa, Paul. Today is a benchmark for you guys, so you should make the most out of it. Make us proud of bearing the Fang name. Don’t let those of the Joto line walk over you guys. If something happens, the Joto family would need some explaining to do,” Teren said as he overlooked the table.

“If they cause trouble, don’t worry, Uncle Teren. I will just knock them down one by one,” one of the youths, Paul, sitting at the left, exclaimed while kissing his biceps.

“Paul, isn’t that too ugly?” Melissa snorted. “Conflict should be resolved by words.” Her eyes shined while she picked up a cup of water and drank from it.

“Melissa, if they beat you up, don't count on me.” Paul said with a defeated tone. Not being able to think of something else to say.

“No need; we have Jinto here,” Melissa replied, looking toward Jinto. Upon hearing his name, everyone paused what they were doing and turned their attention to him.

“Now, why is everyone looking at me? Damn Melissa, now I do have to say something,” Jinto thought. He collected his thoughts, put down his utensils, and stood up from his chair. He glanced at the table, feeling the gazes penetrating him. Clearing his throat, he said, “I will do what needs to be done, either through diplomacy or violence—whichever way is more beneficial to us. I will try my best to accomplish it.” His gaze sharpened, and his tone grew steady as he declared, “I won’t let the Fang name down, not by the Joto line or anyone else.” He then sat back down.

Teren couldn’t help but nod in satisfaction at his son, and the others exchanged approving glances.

Paul broke the silence that followed Jinto’s declaration: “Now that’s a real man! Just let me know—I would love to see their faces in the ground.” He grinned, leaning his broad frame back in the chair.

Melissa couldn’t help but roll her eyes in sarcasm. “Oh, how grand of you, Paul. Striving toward violence once more. Maybe you should let Jinto handle things. He has way more tact than you anyway.”

Relaxing his frame and closing his eyes, Paul replied, “Tact doesn’t help you much when you get punched in the face, Melissa.”

Melissa was about to retort when Teren raised his hand. His expression was gentle, he said, “Enough from both of you.” His voice was calm, carrying a hint of playfulness. He then turned his gaze to Jinto.

“Jinto, today marks a crucial day. Your fissure rank doesn’t determine your worth, but it does determine the opportunities that you may encounter. It will be up to you whether these doors will open or forever remain closed.”

Jinto clenched his fist under the table. “I understand, Father.”

Despite the playful atmosphere, a slight tension and worry could be felt among the family members as they pondered the upcoming ceremony.

To lighten the mood, the bald man gave a playful sigh. “Well, if anyone needs inspiration, just look at me! A brimming, shining example of perseverance here despite all odds,” he said proudly, running his hand over his glistening scalp. The table burst into laughter, except for Ralliere, whose gaze showed slight annoyance.

“Perseverance doesn’t mean much when you’re the butt of every joke,” Ralleire remarked, stuffing a mouthful of steak into his mouth, earning more chuckles from the others.

Despite the humor, everyone occasionally glanced at the old clock on the wall. Each tick brought them closer to the ceremony.

Jinto was excited and nervous at the same time—excited to awaken his fissure and become a magician, but nervous because he hoped for a high-grade fissure. If not, he resolved to work hard to become someone formidable.

...

As the clock ticked closer to the ceremony, the buffet came to an end. Leftover dishes filled the cups, bowls, and plates scattered across the table. The maids began to push a cart and clear the dishes, but one maid stood still, her gaze foggy.

“Sarina.”

“Sarina.”

“Sarina!”

The head matron exclaimed three times. Only on the third call did Sarina bow slightly and apologize.

“Geez, Sarina, if you keep spacing out like that, you’ll never be able to be a proper maid,” the head matron scolded, hands on her hips.

This time Sarina bowed even deeper. “Sorry, it won’t happen again, Maidstress.” Her tone, however, was flat.

The remaining maids exchanged glances at the scene before continuing to clear the table.

“Oh, Sarina, if you’re sorry, help out with cleaning the table,” the head matron said, gesturing to the half-cleared table. Her eyes briefly examined Sarina before looking away.

Sarina glanced out the window at the grand building, Spring Pavilion.

“Hehe…” Sarina muttered slowly under her breath. She thought, “Just minutes ago, I was fighting the Lincoln Kingdom forces over the inheritance. Ultimately, those people failed in the end, and I managed to return 700 years into the past.”

“This feeling is truly mystical. It seems I’ve peered into the Winds of Time.” Sarina examined her hands and clenched them.

“I’ve returned.”