Chase stood at the base of the cliff, neck craned to take in its sheer height. The sun had barely risen, its golden rays glinting off the jagged black rock that jutted upward like the spine of some ancient beast. The cliff rose over five hundred meters into the sky, sharp edges and outcroppings making the path treacherous. The air around it pulsed faintly with a strange energy.
"Why do I feel like you're trying to kill me again?" Chase muttered as Mason floated down beside him, arms crossed and an annoyingly smug expression on his face.
"If I wanted to kill you, brat, you'd already be fertilizer," Mason replied with a cackle. "This is a test. You're ready."
Chase narrowed his grey eyes—eyes that had long since turned lifeless after his blindness. His half-black hair rustled in the breeze, the faint silver streaks now more pronounced than ever, hints of the storm inside him. Lightning and darkness danced faintly around his fingers as he exhaled deeply.
Seven years. That's how long it had been since the day Mason found him in that forest—broken, blinded, and discarded like trash. Seven years of relentless training, of discovering his dual affinity, mastering his senses, and bonding with the little beast named Milo. Seven years of Mason's grueling torment disguised as teaching.
Now, standing at the edge of this cliff, Chase could feel it—he had reached the cusp of something new. The air felt heavier here, almost spiritual. And in the distance, something was calling to him.
"Climb to the top," Mason said. "Don't use your elemental energy or spiritual sense. Only your body, your instincts. No help. If you fall… well, don't fall."
"Of course," Chase muttered dryly. "Why not add lava sharks and flying demon bees while we're at it?"
Mason only smirked and floated higher, arms behind his back. "Have fun."
With a sigh, Chase planted his spear—now a familiar companion—into the ground and placed a hand on the rock face. His muscles tensed, and without another word, he began to climb.
The beginning was manageable. His hands found narrow grips, and his feet clung to crevices. But as he climbed higher, the stone became colder, slicker. He slipped once—twice—and nearly lost his grip at a particularly nasty outcrop. He gritted his teeth. This was nothing. Compared to what he'd been through, this was a walk in the park.
But the higher he climbed, the more he felt something watching him.
It was subtle at first, like a tickle on the back of his neck. But as he reached about halfway, he suddenly froze. A sharp gust of wind nearly threw him off. His body slammed into the rock, and he grunted in pain.
Milo, hidden in Chase's pouch, stirred anxiously, projecting a thought into Chase's mind through their growing telepathic bond.
"Danger… ahead. Something's up there."
"Of course there is," Chase hissed through clenched teeth.
He kept climbing.
At three-quarters up, a sudden tremor shook the cliffside. A boulder dislodged above, crashing downward. Chase narrowly swung aside, using his legs to propel him sideways, grabbing onto a ledge just in time. He hung there, panting, knuckles white.
His body ached. But in the pain, he felt something different—growth.
This is what Mason meant… he realized. This is about pushing my body, my instincts, my will to survive.
He dug his fingers into the rock again.
And climbed.
At the peak, Chase pulled himself over the ledge, collapsed on the ground, and lay there for a moment, chest heaving. The cliff had tested more than just his strength—it had challenged his resolve. The sun was bright above, and the wind howled. But something nearby drew his attention.
A stone pedestal sat at the summit, surrounded by faintly glowing glyphs.
Mason's voice rang out from behind him. "You made it, brat. Good. Now, go touch the pedestal."
Chase, muscles trembling and still catching his breath, staggered to his feet. He reached out and placed his hand on the glyph-marked surface.
The world fell silent.
Darkness and lightning surged through his veins, not painfully—but warmly. As if something long-lost had been waiting for him.
He could feel it: his dantian, once shattered, was reawakening.
But not in the traditional sense.
The lightning and darkness within him weren't merely affinitive—they were rebuilding his core, not just repairing what was lost, but forging something new.
Mason appeared beside him, looking serious for once. "Congratulations. That pedestal belonged to an ancient cultivator—a dual-affinity user like you. It's been dormant for centuries. Looks like it finally chose someone."
Chase's jaw clenched. He could feel something stirring deep inside him. A new rank, a new threshold.
"You're not just rebuilding your cultivation," Mason said quietly. "You're forming a new kind of core—one born from two opposing forces. You're becoming something this world hasn't seen in ages."
Chase fell to his knees, breath shuddering, eyes wide in awe.
Milo crawled out of his pouch and sat beside him, green eyes glowing. "Strong… We're going to be strong, right?"
Chase chuckled, heart pounding. "Damn right we are, Milo."
Mason crossed his arms. "That name still sounds stupid."