The conference chamber was a monument to power and tradition. Located deep within the main administrative wing of the Crowcrest estate, the room stretched nearly a hundred feet in length and fifty in width, with ceilings that rose thirty feet overhead. Massive pillars carved from single blocks of black stone supported the structure, each one inscribed with the names of previous Primarchs dating back centuries.
The floor was polished marble, so smooth it reflected light like still water. At the center, inlaid in silver and white metal, was the Crowcrest family crest, a stylized crow with wings spread wide, each feather detailed with obsessive precision. The symbol was fifteen feet across, impossible to miss, a constant reminder of whose authority governed this space.
Around the crest, arranged in a careful hierarchy, were the seats.
At the far end of the room, elevated on a dais three steps above the main floor, sat a throne. Not ornate or jeweled, but simple and imposing, carved from the same black stone as the pillars. This was the Primarch's seat, the physical manifestation of ultimate authority within the Crowcrest family.
And upon that throne sat Erlin Crowcrest.
He was a mountain made of flesh. Easily eight and a half feet tall even while seated, his frame was broad and powerful despite his age. White hair fell past his shoulders, unbound and wild, framing a face that looked carved from granite. His features were harsh, angular, the kind of face that had never learned to smile easily. Deep lines marked his forehead and the corners of his eyes, evidence of nearly two centuries of existence.
But his eyes were what truly defined him. Silver, like his wife's, but colder, harder, carrying the weight of transcendent power. When those eyes focused on something, reality itself seemed to bend slightly, acknowledging the presence of a being who had surpassed mortal limitations.
He wore simple robes in black and deep gray, unadorned except for the Crowcrest crest embroidered over his heart. No jewelry. No weapons visible. He needed neither. His presence alone was weapon enough.
The pressure emanating from him was tremendous, a constant invisible force that pressed down on everything in the room like atmospheric weight at the bottom of an ocean. It wasn't hostile or aggressive, simply existing, a natural consequence of housing power that transcended normal cultivation ranks. Breathing felt slightly harder near him. Moving required fractionally more effort. Reality was denser in his vicinity.
Below the dais, arranged in a semicircle facing the throne, sat ten chairs. Each one was crafted from dark wood, comfortable but not luxurious, identical in design to emphasize equality among those who occupied them.
These were the seats of the Pureblood Crows, the direct children of Erlin Crowcrest.
And in nine of those ten chairs sat the surviving members of that bloodline.
To the far left sat Kaelen Crowcrest, the eldest living child after Ariel's father's death. He looked to be in his late forties, though he was actually seventy three. Dark hair streaked with gray, sharp features, and calculating eyes. He wore formal robes in dark blue with silver accents, his posture relaxed but attentive. A rank high, specializing in earth manipulation. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair in a steady rhythm, betraying impatience despite his outward calm.
Beside him sat Valeria Crowcrest, second eldest. She appeared to be in her early forties, actually sixty eight. Beautiful in a cold, distant way, with silver hair inherited from her father and piercing green eyes. Her robes were black with emerald threading, elegant and perfectly fitted. A rank peak, lightning specialist. Her gaze swept the room constantly, evaluating, calculating, missing nothing.
Next came Dorian Crowcrest, third eldest. He looked to be in his mid forties, sixty five years old. Broad shouldered and muscular, with brown hair and a thick beard, he cut an imposing figure. His robes were practical rather than decorative, reinforced at key points, suggesting someone who prioritized function over form. A rank mid, fire element. His expression was sour, as if he'd rather be anywhere else.
Fourth was Isolde Crowcrest, appearing to be in her late thirties but actually sixty one. Slender and elegant, with black hair pulled into an intricate braid and dark eyes that reflected little emotion. Her robes were gray and white, understated but expensive. A rank high, ice manipulation. She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, face betraying nothing of her thoughts.
Fifth sat Cyrus Crowcrest, looking to be in his early forties, actually fifty eight. Handsome in a conventional way, with light brown hair and blue eyes, his features almost too perfect. His robes were rich purple with gold embroidery, clearly expensive and meant to draw attention. A rank peak, light element. He smiled easily, confidently, as if he already knew how this meeting would conclude.
Sixth was Morgana Crowcrest, appearing to be in her mid thirties but actually fifty four. Striking rather than beautiful, with red hair that fell in waves past her shoulders and amber eyes that seemed to glow faintly in certain light. Her robes were deep crimson and black, dramatic and eye-catching. A rank high, darkness dual affinity, a rare combination. She leaned back in her chair with casual arrogance.
Seventh sat Lucien Crowcrest, looking to be in his late thirties, fifty years old. Tall and lean, with silver hair like his father and gray eyes. His robes were simple black, unadorned, almost austere. A rank mid, wind element. His expression was neutral, unreadable, giving away nothing of his position or preferences.
Eighth was Selene Crowcrest, appearing to be in her early thirties but actually forty six. Small and delicate looking, with pale blonde hair and blue eyes, she seemed almost fragile compared to her siblings. Her robes were soft blue and white, gentle colors that matched her appearance. But her eyes held sharpness that belied her delicate exterior. A rank high, water manipulation. She watched the proceedings with quiet intensity.
Ninth sat Darius Crowcrest, looking to be in his mid thirties, actually forty three. Dark haired and dark eyed, with features similar enough to Ariel's father that the family resemblance was obvious. His robes were black and red, well made but not ostentatious. A rank peak, space element, an extremely rare affinity. He sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, clearly engaged despite his apparent youth among the Pureblood Crows.
The tenth chair sat empty. That had been Ariel's father's seat. No one had claimed it since his death, left vacant out of respect or superstition or simple politics.
Behind the Pureblood Crows, standing in a loose group, were seventeen Blood Crows. The grandchildren of Erlin, children of the nine present Purebloods, all aged fifteen or above and therefore eligible to attend this conference. They ranged from teenagers to middle aged adults, representing the third generation of Crowcrest power. Their cultivation ranks varied from E to B, their elements diverse, their expressions ranging from bored to intensely interested depending on how directly this meeting affected their futures.
Ariel recognized some of them from inherited memories, though most were strangers. Faces seen at family gatherings where he'd been ignored or pitied. Names attached to accomplishments he could never match. The successful members of the family, the ones who'd awakened properly, who cultivated normally, who weren't dying embarrassments.
The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to feel. This wasn't a casual family meeting. This was a confrontation that had been building for years, finally coming to a head.
Kaelen cleared his throat, drawing attention. As the eldest, he'd apparently appointed himself spokesperson. "Father, we've gathered as you requested. All Pureblood Crows are present, and those Blood Crows eligible to attend have joined us. I believe we can begin."
Erlin said nothing. He simply looked at his eldest son with those terrible silver eyes, and Kaelen actually flinched slightly before recovering his composure.
The pressure in the room increased fractionally. Not enough to cause real discomfort, just enough to remind everyone present exactly who held absolute power here. Several of the younger Blood Crows shifted nervously. Even the Pureblood Crows, all of them A rank cultivators, felt the weight of their father's attention like physical force.
This was a transcendent. Someone who had broken through the normal limits of cultivation and touched something beyond. The gap between A rank and transcendent was wider than the gap between mortal and A rank. Erlin Crowcrest could have killed everyone in this room simultaneously without visible effort, and they all knew it.
"Speak then," Erlin finally said, his voice like grinding stone. Deep, rough, carrying undeniable authority. "Say what you've come to say."
Kaelen straightened, clearly having prepared for this moment. "Father, the matter we must address is the succession. The position of Crown Crow and, by extension, the future Primarch of our family."
"The position is filled," Erlin said flatly. "Ariel holds the title of Crown Crow by right of direct inheritance from my son."
"A title he cannot properly claim," Valeria interjected smoothly, her voice cool and logical. "Father, we all sympathize with the boy's situation. But sympathy doesn't change reality. He's been ill for years. He never awakened his core. He's seventeen years old and still at mortal baseline. He cannot fulfill the duties of Crown Crow."
"He's dying," Cyrus added, his tone managing to sound both sympathetic and dismissive. "The healers have been clear about this. Weeks, perhaps months at most. We cannot leave the succession in this state of uncertainty while waiting for the inevitable."
Morgana leaned forward, her amber eyes glinting. "More than that, we're being unfair to Ariel himself. Forcing him to bear the weight of a title he can never properly claim, watching him struggle with expectations he can never meet. It's cruel. Releasing him from the burden would be a kindness."
'How magnanimous of you,' Ariel would have thought if he'd been present. 'Positioning his removal as doing him a favor.'
Isolde's voice was cold and precise. "The practical concerns are significant. You cannot delay your transcendent responsibilities indefinitely, father. The kingdom needs you for tasks only someone of your cultivation can perform. Within two years at most, you'll need to step down as Primarch. We must have a clear succession plan in place."
"None of you have reached S rank," Erlin observed, his tone making it unclear whether this was criticism or simple statement of fact.
"No," Darius agreed, seemingly unbothered by the observation. "None of us have. Which is why the Primarch position will need to go to someone from the Blood Crow generation, at least temporarily. One of our children who shows the potential to reach S rank and properly lead the family."
Lucien spoke for the first time, his voice quiet but clear. "We have several strong candidates. Young cultivators who've shown exceptional talent and dedication. Any of them would serve admirably as Crown Crow and eventual Primarch."
"You want me to strip my grandson of his birthright and give it to one of yours," Erlin said, making it a statement rather than a question.
"We want you to face reality," Kaelen said firmly. "Ariel cannot lead this family. He's never awakened. He's never cultivated. He's dying. These are facts, not opinions. The Crown Crow must be someone capable of actually assuming the role."
"You speak of him as if he's already dead," Erlin said, his voice dropping to an even more dangerous register. The pressure increased again, making several people gasp.
"We speak of probabilities," Valeria said, though her voice was strained now. "Father, please. We're not trying to dishonor your son's memory or disrespect his child. We're trying to ensure the family's future. That's our duty as Pureblood Crows."
"Your duty," Erlin repeated slowly, each word heavy with meaning.
Dorian apparently decided directness was the better approach. "Yes, our duty. Father, you're transcendent rank. You've lived nearly two centuries. You've led this family to unprecedented power and prosperity. But you cannot hold the Primarch position forever. We need a succession plan. Now. Not in weeks or months when Ariel finally succumbs to his illness. Now."
"We've already begun discussing potential candidates among the Blood Crows," Cyrus said, gesturing to the young people standing behind them. "Several show promise. We could hold trials, evaluate their capabilities, select the most qualified."
"Turn it into a competition," Morgana added. "Let them prove themselves. The strongest, most talented, most dedicated becomes Crown Crow. Fair and meritocratic."
"And conveniently allows each of you to champion your own children," Erlin observed. "How impartial."
Selene spoke up, her soft voice somehow cutting through the tension. "Father, we know this is difficult. Ariel is your grandson, your last connection to your eldest son. But love cannot override practical necessity. The family is larger than any individual, even him."
The arguments continued, building in intensity and passion. Each Pureblood Crow made their case, sometimes agreeing with each other, sometimes contradicting, but all united in the fundamental position that Ariel needed to be removed from succession consideration.
Some of the Blood Crows behind them murmured agreement or showed visible excitement at the possibility of competing for Crown Crow status. Others remained silent, watching the drama unfold with various expressions of interest, concern, or calculation.
Through it all, Erlin sat motionless on his throne. His expression revealed nothing. His silver eyes moved from speaker to speaker, observing, judging, giving no indication of his thoughts or leanings.
But his presence grew heavier with each passing minute. The pressure that emanated from him increased incrementally, degree by degree, until breathing became genuinely difficult. The weaker Blood Crows were sweating now, their faces pale. Even the Pureblood Crows showed signs of strain, though they hid it better.
This was calculated. Deliberate. A reminder that all their arguments, all their logic, all their political maneuvering meant nothing in the face of absolute power. Erlin Crowcrest was transcendent. He could decide this issue by simple decree and none of them could oppose him. They were debating because he allowed them to debate, not because they had any real authority.
The realization showed on several faces, frustration and fear mixing together.
"Enough," Erlin finally said, his voice cutting through the latest round of arguments like a blade through silk.
Instant silence.
Every eye turned to him, waiting for judgment, for decision, for the verdict that would shape the family's future.
He opened his mouth to speak.
And then he paused, his head turning slightly toward the main entrance to the chamber.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on something beyond the massive doors that sealed the conference room from the rest of the estate.
Footsteps.
Distant at first, but approaching steadily. Two sets, clearly audible in the sudden silence despite the thick doors and significant distance. The sound echoed through the hallway beyond, each footfall deliberate and unhurried.
STEP.
STEP.
STEP.
The footsteps grew louder, closer, each one ringing out with perfect clarity. There was something about the rhythm, about the measured pace, that demanded attention. This wasn't someone hurrying or sneaking. This was someone walking with absolute confidence, announcing their presence with every stride.
STEP.
STEP.
STEP.
The Pureblood Crows began to notice, their attention shifting from their father to the doors. Confusion showed on several faces. Who would interrupt a family conference? Who would dare approach uninvited during such a critical meeting?
The Blood Crows were murmuring now, looking around uncertainly.
STEP.
STEP.
STEP.
The footsteps were directly outside now. Close enough that individual details became clear. Two people, definitely. One set heavier, more solid. The other lighter but no less purposeful.
Erlin's expression changed. Not dramatically, just a subtle shift, but those who knew him well enough recognized it. Surprise. Genuine surprise on a face that rarely showed such reactions.
But it wasn't his wife he was sensing, though Seraphina was clearly one of the approaching figures. It was the other presence, the one walking beside her, that had captured his full attention.
Energy. Mana. A cultivator's aura.
But not just any cultivator. This aura was familiar in its fundamental essence, carrying echoes of bloodline and family, yet transformed, enhanced, elevated beyond what it should have been.
The boy.
The dying child who shouldn't have been able to awaken.
Had awakened.
The massive doors to the conference chamber swung open slowly, moved by unseen hands or possibly by the intent of those approaching. The heavy wood groaned slightly, the sound thunderous in the absolute silence that had fallen over the room.
Through the opening stepped two figures.
Seraphina Crowcrest entered first, her silver hair gleaming in the light, her posture regal and confident. She wore formal robes in white and silver, the colors of the matriarch, and her presence commanded immediate respect.
But every eye in the room immediately moved past her to the figure walking at her side.
Ariel Crowcrest stepped into the conference chamber, and the world seemed to take notice.
He was taller than anyone remembered, easily six feet four inches, his frame filled out with lean muscle that spoke of transformation rather than simple growth. His formal black attire with silver embroidery marked him as Crowcrest family, but it was his bearing that truly commanded attention. He walked with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was and what he was worth.
His face, transformed by divine integration, was striking in its refined elegance. Dark hair fell in artful disarray. And his eyes, those eyes with their red undertones visible even from a distance, held depths that hadn't existed before.
But most significantly, most impossibly, was the aura surrounding him.
Mana swirled around him in visible patterns, blue and silver light dancing across his form in controlled streams. Energy radiated from him with every breath, every movement, marking him undeniably as an awakened cultivator.
The entire chamber stared in shocked silence.
Erlin Crowcrest's eyes were locked on his grandson, and for perhaps the first time in decades, his expression showed clear, undeniable surprise.
The Pureblood Crows sat frozen, their mouths slightly open, their eyes wide with disbelief.
The Blood Crows behind them had gone completely still, barely breathing.
No one moved. No one spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and profound.
Ariel and Seraphina continued their measured approach toward the throne, their footsteps still echoing in the vast space.
STEP.
STEP.
STEP.
And as they walked, as the reality of what everyone was seeing slowly sank in, eyes began to widen further. Breathing became audible as shock gave way to comprehension.
The dying child had awakened.
The impossible had occurred.
Everything had changed.