Extract from the -{ Tome of the ‘Forgotten One’ }- Divine scripture of the Church of the ‘Forgotten One’.

"In the realm where light dares not tread, I am the sovereign ruler, dispensing fairness and equity to all who seek solace in the embrace of darkness." (The Revelation of Evernight 1:4)

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Asher held the crystal up to the dim light emitted from the glowing runes of the walls, studying its impenetrable depths. Unable to discern anything remarkable about it with his naked eye, he decided to employ his inspection skills.

[ Bloodline Essence crystal-Shard (unknown): A broken shard of a once complete bloodline crystal, specifically designed for an inherited bloodline cannot be used by anyone who does not have the required bloodline. Consumption would increase the potency of the said bloodline and can reveal secrets hidden within. Its rarity depends on the bloodline itself hence, it has no rarity of its own. They can only be made by the progenitor of the bloodline to transfer their essence to a being not born directly from them. ]

The description materialized in Asher's mind, providing tantalizing hints about the crystal's nature. A fragment of a larger whole, designed for a specific inherited bloodline. It is useless to most, but potentially invaluable to the right individual. Asher's thoughts drifted to the cryptic message from his sponsor, Mr. Dusk Herald. Could this be one of the keys to unlocking the seals on his inherited bloodline?

Uncertain of how to proceed, Asher decided to consult the ever-present assistant. "Hey, Inquisitor," he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the chamber. "Can you tell me how I can use this crystal?"

The glowing orb pulsed as it responded: [Certainly. To use this crystal, the being with a compatible bloodline must directly consume it. If consumed by an incompatible individual, it would have no effect and be rendered useless.]

Asher stared at the crystal in his hand, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Well," he muttered, "I've eaten worse. Bottoms up."

Before he could second-guess himself, Asher popped the crystal into his mouth and swallowed hard. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without warning, his entire body erupted into searing heat. It felt as though every drop of blood in his veins had ignited, coursing through him with the fury of a raging inferno.

Asher sank to his knees, gritting his teeth against the pain. He assumed a meditative position, desperately trying to center himself as the agony intensified. His vision blurred, the dungeon around him fading away as his consciousness drifted into an unknown realm.

When Asher's senses returned, he found himself in a vast, misty space reminiscent of his skill memory palace. Before him sat a figure, cross-legged and motionless. It was a featureless being, more a blank canvas than a true entity, yet it radiated an aura of profound significance.

But it was the surrounding pneuma that truly captured Asher's attention. For the first time, he could see it clearly – a pale purple mist that swirled and eddied around the figure. With each breath the being took, it drew in the pneuma, channeling it through its body in a mesmerizing display.

Asher watched, transfixed, as the pneuma flowed into the figure's lungs, then spiraled towards a vortex in its chest. There, the mist-like substance transformed, liquefying before spreading throughout the being's body via intricate channels that mirrored the circulatory system.

"Pneuma cultivation," Asher breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. He understood instinctively that this was a rare opportunity, a chance to unlock the mysteries of this world's power. But as he attempted to mimic the figure's breathing, he found the surrounding pneuma unresponsive to his efforts.

Frustration mounting, Asher approached the meditating figure. "Hey," he called out, his voice echoing strangely in the misty void. "Can you understand me?"

Silence was his only answer. The figure remained motionless, not indicating that it had heard Asher's words. Undeterred, Asher settled himself directly in front of the being, mere inches separating them.

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"Fine," he muttered, a determined glint in his eye. "If you won't teach me, I'll just have to learn by watching."

And so began Asher's first true foray into the world of pneuma cultivation. He watched the figure intently, studying every minute detail of its breathing and the corresponding flow of pneuma. Every few moments, he would close his eyes, attempting to replicate the movements he'd observed. Each failure was met with a muttered curse, but Asher refused to give up.

Hours seemed to pass in that timeless space, marked only by Asher's cycles of observation and attempted replication. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his muscles ached from maintaining his position, but still, he persevered. With each attempt, he felt something stirring within him – a power that had lain dormant, waiting for this very moment to awaken.

As Asher opened his eyes once more, ready to begin another cycle of observation, he noticed something different. The purple mist that had seemed so obstinate before now swirled around him, responding to his breathing in a way it hadn't before. A smile spread across Asher's face as he realized the significance of this development.

He had taken his first true step on the path of pneuma cultivation as the mist continued to swirl around him, Asher knew that this was only the beginning.

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Winston stood motionless at the dungeon's entrance, his artificial eyes fixed on the scene unfolding within. The air around him hummed with an otherworldly energy, a stark contrast to the eerie silence that permeated the ancient stones. He couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry as he watched Asher's peculiar predicament unfold.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as Winston waited, the minutes ticking by like hours. It had been over sixty minutes since Asher had emerged victorious against the formidable dungeon boss, yet there was no sign of him. Initially, Winston had exercised patience, expecting Asher to appear at any moment. But as half an hour passed with no movement, worry began to gnaw at him.

Unable to quell his growing concern, Winston decided to utilize his newly regained authority over the dungeon. With a thought, he peered into the chamber where Asher had faced his foe, half-expecting to find the young man gravely injured or worse.

What greeted his eyes, however, was a spectacle both bizarre and fascinating. Asher sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, his posture reminiscent of a seasoned meditator. His face, usually a mask of determination, now contorted into a series of expressions ranging from intense concentration to outright frustration.

Occasionally, Asher would break his silence with a string of colorful curses, his body twisting into awkward postures as if wrestling with an unseen force. Despite the strangeness of the scene, Winston refrained from intervening. He recognized this as some unconventional method of cultivation, a practice he had only heard whispers of in his long existence.

As an artificial being, Winston had never had cause to delve into the intricacies of cultivation. He watched, transfixed, as tendrils of pneuma – invisible to most, but clear as day to his enhanced senses – coalesced around Asher. The young cultivator seemed to breathe in these ethereal strands, incorporating them into his very being through some arcane technique.

Winston hummed with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. He may not have been able to assist Asher directly in matters of cultivation, but he understood the significance of this moment. In a world where power often meant the difference between life and death, any opportunity for growth was indeed heaven-sent.

The minutes stretched into hours, yet Winston remained vigilant. He observed every twitch, every grimace, every bead of sweat that formed on Asher's brow. Though he couldn't fully comprehend the intricacies of what was transpiring, he could sense the gradual shift in the energy surrounding the young cultivator.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Asher's eyes fluttered open. He blinked slowly as if emerging from a deep trance. Winston watched as awareness returned to his gaze, followed quickly by a look of disappointment.

Asher's lips moved, forming silent words as he tried to recapture whatever state he had been in. But it was clear that the moment had passed. The strange crystal that had facilitated this experience had exhausted its power, leaving Asher firmly anchored in the physical realm once more.

Undeterred, Asher closed his eyes again, this time focusing inward. Winston could almost see the young man's consciousness probing his own body, taking stock of the changes wrought by his unusual cultivation session.

A small smile tugged at Asher's lips, a rare expression of satisfaction. Without uttering a word, he conveyed a sense of progress, of barriers overcome. Winston's analytical mind raced, piecing together the implications. It seemed Asher had broken through some threshold, advancing to a new stage in his cultivation journey.

As Asher began to stir, preparing to rise, Winston's attention was drawn to the two small forms nestled within the folds of the young cultivator's robes. The dragon and the Kraken, those curious companions, had slumbered through the entire ordeal, blissfully unaware of the transformation their master had undergone.

Asher's movements were slow, deliberate, as he stretched his stiff muscles. He cast a glance towards his sleeping companions, a flicker of fondness crossing his features before being replaced by his usual stoic expression.

With measured steps, Asher made his way toward the exit, his posture betraying a new sense of confidence. As he crossed the threshold, reality seemed to warp around him. In the blink of an eye, he found himself standing outside the dungeon's entrance as if the labyrinthine corridors had never existed.

Winston materialized beside him, his voice breaking the silence with a formal, "Congratulations on your first successful conquest, Young Master Asher."

Asher's brow furrowed slightly, a fleeting expression of annoyance crossing his face. He seemed to ponder this reaction for a moment before attributing it to fatigue. With a curt nod, he acknowledged Winston's words, his mind already racing ahead to their next move.

The peaceful moment was shattered by a small commotion within Asher's robes. A tiny white dragon head emerged, its eyes still heavy with sleep. "Are we in the dungeon yet?" it inquired lazily, punctuating the question with a series of adorable yawns. "I feel like I overslept."

Before Asher could respond, another movement caught his attention. The Kraken, not to be outdone, squirmed its way partially out of the robe. Its eyes remained stubbornly closed as it mumbled, "I want roasted meat."

Asher sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement coloring his exhale. He turned to Winston, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I suppose we should find something to eat before these two decide to make a meal out of us."