Boom! Boom! Boom!
The solemn beating of ceremonial drums echoed throughout the city, their deep hum reverberating through the mountain mist. The sound stirred Avinash from his meditation. His eyes snapped open—sharp, cold, and laced with a hint of nostalgic amusement.
"So, it's time..." he murmured inwardly.
He sat up swiftly, the thin blanket slipping from his body. That ancient rhythm only played once every five years—on the day of the Awakening Ceremony. A day every youth awaited with trembling anticipation. But for Avinash, who had seen through the illusion of fate countless times before, it was merely another performance to act in.
He opened the window.
The rain had finally stopped.
A cool breeze brushed against his face, carrying with it the earthy scent of wet soil, moss, and wildflowers. The city still lay under the embrace of pre-dawn darkness, the sky painted in deep, somber blue. No sunlight. No birdsong. Just silence—and the ghostly echoes of drums calling destiny.
The city sprawled unevenly along the mountain slope. Most homes, including his, were built on raised wooden platforms—stilts elevating the first floor above the sloping earth. Avinash and his "good brother," Abhimanyu, resided on the second floor, like many others.
"Young Master Avinash, are you awake? Master and Mistress have asked for both of you to come to the living room," came the coarse voice of a servant from downstairs.
Avinash recognized it instantly—Rinku, the old house servant.
"I'm coming," he replied lazily, feigning a groggy tone. An act. Like everything else.
Though wide awake and clear-headed, he couldn't afford to act unusually. In a world where soul-seizing and possession were real, being too calm, too ready, could spark suspicion. Especially with a father like his—Anirudh, a Foundation Realm cultivator. Avinash had learned the hard way: never give fate a reason to turn on you.
He washed up at the basin, dressed neatly, and descended the stairs. In the living room, he found a familiar rotund figure standing awkwardly near the doorway—Abhimanyu.
"You ready?" Avinash asked calmly.
Abhimanyu nodded, head bowed. "Yes," he muttered.
He'd clearly been awake for hours—eyes rimmed with dark circles, his nervous energy practically pulsing. Avinash observed him quietly. In his first life, he'd never understood this brother's hidden thoughts. But now, after seven lifetimes... he could see through him like a clear pond.
Son of a bitch... still playing the loyal brother role, Avinash thought coldly.
They entered the lower-floor living room, where their parents were already waiting.
"We greet Father and Mother," the two said in unison, bowing respectfully with clasped palms.
Anirudh nodded with a rare smile. "Go now. Even though your mother and I never cultivated beyond the early stages, we hope you both awaken a talent that surpasses ours. But remember—whether you do or not, we will always be proud of you."
Avinash smiled faintly, but his thoughts sneered.
Proud? If I awaken better talent than your 'precious son,' will your hearts still echo those words?
They left the house, joining the growing stream of youths heading toward the rear mountain path. Groups of twos and threes chatted excitedly as they climbed toward the Awakening Cave.
"Look, it's them—the brothers."
"The one in front is Avinash. You know, the one who started speaking at three months and could write by nine."
"His face really does look like moonlight. No wonder they call him the moonborn."
Admiration and jealousy danced in those whispers.
Abhimanyu said nothing. He was used to this. Head low, he followed silently, as if dragged forward by the weight of an invisible chain.
The first rays of dawn stretched across the horizon, casting gold across the mountains. But in Abhimanyu's heart, there was only darkness.
His brother walked just ahead—but to him, it felt like an unreachable summit. A mountain of shadow pressing down, suffocating him.
Avinash, hearing the whispers behind him, sneered inwardly.
Jealousy... it always blooms in the hearts of mediocrity. No wonder Abhimanyu went mad in another life—when he learned he had no talent and later stole my True Yang Bone. Trash always craves what it can't obtain.
They reached the Awakening Cave. It was no longer wild and damp like the night before—someone had cleaned and arranged it for the ceremony. Five elders stood in silence, their presence exuding calm authority.
"You're all on time. Good," said one elder—a white-bearded man from a neighboring village. "This is your life's turning point. I won't say more. Follow me."
He led them into a stone hall, down a spiraling staircase into a cavern below. Gasps echoed through the group as the youths beheld glowing stalactites casting shifting hues of rainbow light across the stone walls.
In the center stood the Awakening Stone—a large blue crystal embedded in a pedestal, glowing with an eerie, natural luminescence.
"One by one. Step forward when I call your name. Place your hand on the stone—it will judge your fate."
The first name was called—Tinku. A nervous boy stepped forward and placed his hand on the stone...
Nothing.
"Tinku. No talent for cultivation. You may leave," the elder said flatly.
Tears welled in the boy's eyes. He turned and ran, sobbing.
More names followed. Most had no reaction—no talent.
Then, finally, a stone lit up—blue.
"Average talent," the elder announced with mild joy. The child was set aside for evaluation.
Unbeknownst to the elder, blue was the mark of trash in the wider cultivation world—those who, at best, might reach the peak of the Qi Realm after decades of struggle.
Then came Avinash's turn.
He walked forward calmly and placed his hand on the stone. It lit up orange—but before anyone could see clearly, an illusion array activated, masking the true color.
Blue.
The System had hidden his real talent.
"Average talent. Not bad, not bad!" the elder declared.
Envious gazes turned to Avinash.
Behind him, Abhimanyu bit his lip, rage and bitterness surging. Even if it's just average… he still awakened.
Then came his turn.
Abhimanyu stepped forward. Placed his hand on the stone.
Nothing.
The stone remained dark.
His heart cracked.
"No talent. You may go," the elder said, softer now—likely out of respect for the mayor's son.
Abhimanyu fled, hollow and trembling.
The elder turned back. "You three—wait outside. I'll speak with your parents later."
Avinash nodded and left, but didn't rush.
The System had already warned him—Anirudh was keeping a close eye. He couldn't act out of character.
He found Abhimanyu near a hill, sitting alone, eyes red and face pale.
Without speaking, Avinash sat beside him. Silence stretched between them.
After a long pause, he said softly, "Even I only awakened average talent. Don't give up."
"But… at least you can cultivate..." Abhimanyu's voice cracked, eyes brimming with tears.
"Enough crying. I might know a way. But it's dangerous."
Abhimanyu's eyes lit up, desperate with hope.
"Really? What kind of method?"
"Come closer."
Abhimanyu leaned in.
Avinash whispered a few words.
Hope surged in Abhimanyu's face. "Truly?"
"Why would I lie about something like this?" Avinash replied, impatient.
Abhimanyu smiled, guilt and gratitude swirling in his heart. Maybe I was wrong about you, brother... maybe you were always looking out for me.
"Let's go. Mother and Father must be waiting," Abhimanyu said, standing.
"You go. I'll follow later," Avinash said calmly.
This time, Abhimanyu didn't argue. He ran back, filled with hope.
People whispered as he passed:
"Isn't that the one who couldn't cultivate?"
"Why's he smiling like that?"
"Maybe the shock broke him."
Even his parents were taken aback. When they asked, Abhimanyu only smiled and said, "I've realized… even without cultivation, I can still live a happy life."
They didn't believe it—but they let it be.
Meanwhile, Avinash sat beneath the open sky.
Clouds drifted slowly overhead.
A cruel smile curled on his lips.
My foolish little brother... so easy to manipulate, just like always.