His father leaned forward with pride gleaming in his eyes, the kind that only comes from speaking of his children. "Now that we're talking about your siblings… let me tell you about the twins."
Taryn looked up, curious.
"The fifth and sixth," his father continued, "they're now known as the Twin Blades of the Storm Sword Sect. You remember that name, don't you?"
Taryn's heart stirred with recognition. "Of course… how could I forget them?"
The storm sword sect—one of the ruling orthodox sects, known for its unrelenting swordsmanship and tempest-style footwork. Ruthless in battle, but loyal to their own.
Taryn's mind drifted back.
Two boys. Identical, wild-eyed, full of energy. Racing through the courtyard with wooden swords, causing chaos wherever they went. They were terrors of the house—climbing roofs, breaking jars, challenging stable boys to mock duels. But when it came to him, their sickly younger brother, they were different. Gentle. Protective. They never let anyone tease him. They brought him fruit, warmed his hands on cold nights, read stories to him when he couldn't sleep.
"They're your rivals now," his father said with a smirk, "at least in cultivation. But you know how much they care for you. It's just… their way is loud. Swords instead of words."
Taryn chuckled softly. "I remember when they fought the neighborhood boys because someone said I looked like a walking corpse."
"They split that poor training dummy in half," his mother murmured, shaking her head. "Then brought you rice porridge like nothing happened."
Taryn's smile faded into something softer. "Yeah… they're wild. But they always had my back."
His father shifted again. "And your fourth brother. The quiet one. The serious one."
"Zoren," Taryn said, the name rolling off his tongue like the rhythm of a memory.
"He's a star instructor now at the Heavenly Martial Academy," his father said. "They say his lectures inspire cultivators to break through just by understanding martial theory. He trains students with passion, but he's also training himself. That's the life he wanted—to teach, to grow with others."
A wave of calmness washed over Taryn. Zoren had always been the most disciplined of them all. While the twins played, Zoren meditated. While others sparred recklessly, Zoren studied form, flow, rhythm.
But even with all that rigidity, Taryn remembered how Zoren would carry him on his back when he was too weak to walk, how he made sure the garden path was swept clean so Taryn could sit and watch the sunrise. He'd never spoken much—but his actions spoke volumes.
"He used to bring me books," Taryn murmured. "And he sat beside me even when I couldn't keep my eyes open."
His father nodded with a proud smile. "All of them, in their own way, love you deeply."
The warmth in the room was thick now—more than just fire and bricks. It was the warmth of legacy. Of a bloodline not built on just power and prestige, but on love and shared memories.
"They'll all be here soon," his mother said, eyes shining. "And they'll see you not just standing… but walking the path alongside them."