The breeze that danced through the morning gardens of House Calvier was crisp, fragrant with the scent of dew-kissed petals and the soft rustle of leaves. Taryn stepped out of his room, the sunlight warming his skin, each step lighter than it had ever been in this world.
There was no ache in his limbs, no shallow breathing or dragging fatigue. His body, once sickly and frail, now moved like it belonged to him—like it was meant to carry a cultivator's will.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and drew a breath deep into his lungs.
This is… freedom.
He smiled faintly to himself, then made his way down the winding stone path, past koi-filled ponds and silent stone statues, toward the central hall. A servant bowed as he passed, eyes subtly widening at the young master's confident stride.
When he reached the hall, his parents were seated just as before—his father, regal and strong with silver streaks at his temples, and his mother, graceful and sharp-eyed. Their discussion paused the moment they saw him.
Taryn bowed respectfully. "Mother. Father."
There was a stunned silence for a breath.
Then his mother stood abruptly, eyes wide. "T-Taryn? You… you're walking… normally?"
His father slowly rose as well, staring intently, a cultivator's perception quietly sensing something deeper. "More than that… he's cultivated."
Taryn smiled, straightening. "I came to tell you not to worry about me anymore. My health has recovered. And… I've started my journey."
His mother stepped forward, hands trembling as she gently cupped his face. "My boy… you've healed…"
She couldn't hold back the tears, not of sadness, but of long-overdue joy.
"You have recovered, my son…" she whispered.
His father's voice rang with amazement, pride, and something rare—hope. "No… more than recovery. You've stepped into the path. I can feel it—your energy flows with clarity now. You've entered Level One of the first stage."
He stepped toward his son and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. "This… this is the most amazing news I've heard in years. The heavens… they've finally smiled upon us."
"Thousands of physicians, healers, and menders tried… and none could restore your vitality," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Yet in a single night, you not only healed—you stepped onto the path of cultivation."
He turned his gaze toward the ornate ceiling, emotion thick in his voice. "If this isn't a miracle, I don't know what is. Either the heavens themselves blessed you… or…"
In the quiet that followed, Taryn's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, smug voice echoing only in his mind.
"Ahem. A miracle, you say? Oh, I don't like to brag…"
Taryn's eye twitched.
"But I will. That's right, old man. Your son didn't just wake up lucky. This—" the system snapped its nonexistent fingers in his brain, "—was my miracle. My dazzling genius. My divine support. You're welcome!"
Taryn coughed lightly, suppressing a smile.
His mother looked at him with wonder. "Tell me, Taryn… how do you feel?"
"Stronger," he said simply. "Alive. And ready for whatever life throws at me."
His father's smile broke through the stern mask he wore so often. "Then today is not just a family celebration—it is a day the heavens turned our fate. You've taken your first step… and I believe you'll go far."
The quiet joy in the hall was like warm sunlight—no grand celebration, just the warmth of a miracle long hoped for, now real.
And in the back of his mind, Taryn heard the system humming proudly.
"Destined one, huh? I like the sound of that."