Dual Cultivation Path

The sun hung high over the Verdant Crest Academy, its golden light spilling across the courtyard where the talent test had left the crowd in a lingering fervor. Roderic Vane stood among the advancing hopefuls—Barnaby Quill at his side, Theobald Finch and Aurelia Vance nearby—his patched tunic still damp with sweat, his hazel eyes wide with a mix of pride and disbelief. The ethereal glow of his qi test lingered in his mind, a color beyond white that had stunned the onlookers, silenced Jorin's taunts, and sparked Tansy's proud shouts. His core thrummed, a vast sea of qi he hadn't fully unleashed, and the weight of that potential pressed against his chest.

The crowd's roar had barely faded when a disciple in a crisp green robe approached, her steps brisk, her face tight with purpose. She was older than the one at the registration table, her dark hair pinned in a severe bun, a jade pendant swaying at her waist. "Roderic Vane," she said, voice clipped, eyes flicking over his ragged clothes with a hint of disbelief. "The elders summon you. Follow me."

Roderic blinked, his grin faltering. "Now? What for?"

"Assessment," she replied, turning on her heel without elaboration. "Move quickly."

Barnaby nudged him, his lopsided smile flickering. "They're spooked, huh? That glow—you're something else."

"Guess so," Roderic said, exhaling, his confidence steadying as he glanced at Tansy beyond the ropes. She waved, her freckled face beaming, and he nodded back before following the disciple. The crowd parted, whispers trailing him—"The quarry boy," "Beyond white," "A freak or a genius?"—their awe tinged with curiosity and fear.

The disciple led him past the testing circle, where the Stones of Measure still shimmered faintly, their runes dulled from his outburst. They crossed the courtyard, weaving through clusters of disciples and hopefuls, until they reached a towering archway carved with coiling vines, its ironwood doors ajar. Beyond lay a hall of polished stone, its walls lined with tapestries depicting cultivators in flowing robes, their qi rendered in threads of gold and silver. Lanterns of frosted jade hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, emerald glow that bathed the space in an otherworldly calm.

Roderic's boots echoed on the floor, a stark contrast to the disciple's silent tread, his patched trousers brushing against the hem of her robe. The air here was cooler, scented with incense—sandalwood and lotus—its faint smoke curling upward in delicate spirals. He craned his neck, taking in the hall's grandeur: a domed ceiling painted with constellations, stars glinting in patterns he didn't recognize, and a dais at the far end where four figures waited, their silhouettes framed by a massive window of stained glass, its hues of green and blue fracturing the sunlight into a mosaic.

The elders stood as he approached, their flowing robes shimmering with subtle runes that pulsed faintly, like heartbeats in the fabric. The lead elder—his steel-wool beard bristling, eyes sharp beneath heavy brows—stepped forward, his staff tapping the stone with a dull thud. Beside him stood the wiry woman from the test, her gray hair pulled tight, her sharp gaze dissecting Roderic like a blade. The bald, stooped elder leaned on a cane, his wrinkled face creased with skepticism, while the fourth—a broad man with a square jaw and a mane of white hair—crossed his arms, his presence imposing even in silence.

"Roderic Vane," the lead elder said, his voice a gravelly rumble, "stand before us." He gestured to a circular sigil etched into the floor, its lines glowing faintly with qi, centered beneath the dais. Roderic obeyed, stepping into the circle, the stone cool under his boots, a faint tingle rising through his soles as the sigil pulsed.

The disciple retreated, bowing, and the doors thudded shut behind her, sealing the hall in a heavy silence. Roderic straightened, his grin returning, though softer now, his qi humming in anticipation. "You wanted me?" he asked, voice steady, meeting the lead elder's gaze.

The elder's brow furrowed, his staff tapping again. "Your test," he began, pausing as if the words were hard to form, "was… anomalous. Beyond white—beyond anything these stones have measured in three centuries. We must verify it."

The wiry woman stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowing. "A fluke is possible," she said, her tone clipped, hands clasped behind her back. "A surge, an artifact's residue, a trick of the stone. Such talent in a laborer—no clan, no training—it defies reason."

Roderic's grin twitched, but he held his ground. "No trick," he said, voice firm. "It's mine. Test me again—I'll show you."

The bald elder snorted, leaning on his cane. "Bold words, boy. Talent like that doesn't sprout from quarry dust. We've seen prodigies—Finch, Vance—but you? This is something else."

"Something extraordinary," the broad elder rumbled, his deep voice echoing off the walls, arms still crossed. "Or dangerous. We'll see."

The lead elder raised a hand, silencing them, and gestured to a table beside the dais. On it sat a single Stone of Measure—larger than the courtyard's, its jade deeper, almost black, its runes etched with gold rather than silver. "This is the Elder's Orb," he said, stepping to it, his staff tapping a rhythm. "Forged by the sect's founders, it measures not just strength but purity, depth, resonance. If your qi is what we saw, it will hold. If not…" He trailed off, eyes hard.

Roderic nodded, his qi surging with a quiet thrill. "Let's do it."

The wiry woman approached the orb, her fingers brushing its surface, and it pulsed once, a low hum filling the hall. "Channel your qi," she instructed, stepping back, her voice tight with expectation. "Slowly at first—then all you can."

Roderic stepped to the table, the orb's dark jade gleaming under the lantern light, its gold runes catching the emerald glow. He pressed his palm to it, the surface colder than the courtyard stones, a faint vibration stirring against his skin. The elders watched, their breaths held, the hall's stillness amplifying every sound—his steady exhale, the tap of the lead elder's staff, the rustle of their robes.

He closed his eyes, reaching for his core—that flame, steady and vast, forged by the relic's shards. The qi flowed, a trickle at first, deliberate and controlled, sliding down his arm like water through a narrow stream. The orb pulsed, its runes flickering, and a glow sparked—red, dim and weak, a starting point that mirrored the courtyard's test. The bald elder's cane tapped, a skeptical grunt escaping him, but Roderic didn't pause, deepening the flow.

The red brightened, shifting—blue now, clear and solid, its light washing the table in a cool sheen. The wiry woman's sharp eyes widened, her hands clenching, while the broad elder uncrossed his arms, leaning forward. Roderic felt the qi surge, smooth and effortless, a river he guided with a thought, and the blue flared—gold, rich and warm, its radiance spilling across the hall, glinting off the tapestries and staining the stained glass with new hues.

"Gold," the bald elder muttered, cane stilling, his skepticism wavering. "Already strong—but we've seen gold."

Roderic's lips twitched, his focus sharpening, the qi still rising. He let it spill further, a tide he'd only begun to tap, and the gold intensified—sharp, blinding—then shifted to white. Pure, piercing white, a beam that streaked upward, brushing the domed ceiling and casting the constellations in stark relief. The elders flinched, the lead one gripping his staff tighter, the wiry woman stepping back with a sharp inhale.

"White again," she rasped, voice trembling. "No fluke—consistent—"

But it wasn't done. Roderic's brow furrowed, not from strain but a quiet awe, as the qi flowed stronger—a current he hadn't meant to unleash fully, yet couldn't stop now. The white shimmered, trembling, then transcended—beyond white, into that ethereal glow, a color like starlight woven with mist, soft yet overwhelming, pulsing with a radiance that defied the hall's shadows. The orb quivered, its gold runes blazing, the hum deepening to a resonance that rattled the lanterns, their jade clinking faintly.

The lead elder staggered, his staff slipping, eyes wide with disbelief. "Beyond—again!" he barked, voice cracking. "The Elder's Orb—it's straining!"

The wiry woman clutched her robe, her sharp composure fracturing. "Purity—depth—it's flawless! No impurities, no limit—the founders never measured this!"

"Impossible," the bald elder croaked, cane forgotten, his stooped frame straightening as he stared. "In three hundred years—no scroll, no tale—nothing like this!"

The broad elder's square jaw tightened, his deep voice a growl. "Not just talent—it's a force. Untamed, unbounded—what is he?"

Roderic opened his eyes, the ethereal glow reflecting in his hazel irises, bathing his sharp, sun-browned face in its light. He stepped back, the orb's radiance fading to a shimmering afterimage, its hum lingering in the air like a struck bell. His hand tingled, his core still pulsing, and he exhaled, stunned anew. He'd felt it—the qi surging, vast and uncharted, more than he'd given in the courtyard, yet still not all. The relic's gift was a sea, and he'd barely waded in.

The elders stared, their silence heavy, the hall's grandeur dwarfed by the moment. The lead elder recovered first, stepping forward, his staff tapping a shaky rhythm. "Roderic Vane," he said, voice raw, "your qi is… unprecedented. Beyond measure—beyond our understanding. The Elder's Orb confirms it: you are the most talented we've seen—perhaps ever."

The wiry woman shook her head, eyes still wide. "No laborer—no mortal—should hold this. Where did it come from? What fuels it?"

"Does it matter?" the broad elder cut in, his tone sharp. "He's here. He's ours—or he could be another's. We can't let this slip."

The bald elder frowned, cane tapping again. "A marvel, yes—but a risk. Untamed power like that—if he falters, it could break him. Or us."

Roderic grinned, faint but real, his voice cutting through their debate. "I won't falter. It's mine—I'll master it. For me, for my sister."

The lead elder met his gaze, his sternness softening into something like awe. "You'll be trained—closely. Watched. This talent—it's a gift and a burden. You'll bear it here."

Roderic nodded, the qi still humming, the hall's incense swirling around him. The elders' words sank in—unprecedented, flawless, a marvel—and he felt the weight, but also the promise. Tansy's pride echoed in his mind, the crowd's awe a distant roar, and he wondered, heart pounding—what if he'd given more?