Chapter 934: A memory (4)

Chapter 934: A memory (4)

"Like it knew her."

As he said that, Gerald shook his head faintly, lips twitching at the memory.

"I’d spent decades crafting starlight—refining it, molding it to match my rhythm, my will. And this girl, this nameless child who could barely hold a blade, stood next to it and the damn thing danced with her like it had been waiting its whole existence for her to show up."

Lucavion exhaled, a quiet mix of awe and confusion. "That’s... rare."

"It’s unheard of," Gerald said bluntly. "Not even the old cultivators from the Azure Libraries recorded something like that. And you know what the worst part was?"

Lucavion tilted his head. "What?"

"She couldn’t use it."

Lucavion blinked. "But you said it responded to her."

"It did," Gerald nodded. "But that’s just it. It wanted to respond. But she couldn’t do anything with it. It slipped through her fingers like water."

Gerald looked into Lucavion’s eyes then—longer than necessary, gaze steady and unreadable.

"That’s why I taught her," he said at last. "That’s why I decided to pass on the starlight. To teach her how to cultivate."

Lucavion tilted his head slightly. "Because of her physique?"

Gerald nodded. "Because I wanted to see it. I wanted to see what someone like her could do with my power. With something I’d built from scratch, alone." He leaned back with a tired breath, one hand rubbing the side of his temple. "But... the time I had back then wasn’t long."

Lucavion blinked. "Why? Weren’t you just adventuring? What was limiting you?"

Gerald narrowed his eyes. "Who allowed you to ask questions?"

"I allowed myself."

"From now on, you’re not allowed."

Lucavion raised a brow. "What if I ask anyway?"

Gerald raised a fist lazily. "Then I’ll beat you up."

"...Mature," Lucavion muttered.

"I am mature," Gerald replied smugly, then sighed. "Anyway, I didn’t get much time. But I managed to teach her the first steps. Showed her how to feel it—how to let it settle inside. How to form her core."

He gave a faint, almost fond chuckle. "She was fast. Scarily fast. Formed it in a day."

"Not bad."

"Don’t get ahead of yourself kid."

"Hehe..."

Gerald then continued. "Anyway. In just a day, or half a day if you count the breaks, she formed her core. You should’ve seen it. The light actually sank into her. Like it belonged there from the start."

"That’s... ridiculous," Lucavion muttered.

"And then," Gerald continued, tapping a finger on his knee, "her cultivation took off. Smooth. Steady. She progressed faster than most adults I’d seen. But."

He paused, gaze sliding to Lucavion again.

"But?"

"She got stuck. Just like you."

Lucavion frowned. "Stuck how?"

Gerald’s grin returned, maddeningly smug.

"Ah... her face," he said, almost wistful. "It was hilarious. Like a little kid who tried their best—who followed all the instructions, didn’t skip a step, poured their heart into it—and still didn’t get the toy they wanted. But they were too polite to throw a tantrum."

Lucavion’s brow twitched. "Sounds tragic."

"No, no," Gerald shook his head. "It was funny. Her lip did this tiny twitch, like she was swallowing a scream. She looked like you."

Lucavion glared. "My face doesn’t look like that."

"Next time," Gerald said smugly, "I’ll put a mirror in front of you. So you can see what I suffer through daily."

"I’ll break the mirror."

Gerald sipped from his empty cup as if he hadn’t heard a thing. "You’ll still see it before it cracks."

Gerald stretched his legs out, ankle crossing over knee, the grin fading into something quieter—more measured. "She was like that too, you know," he said, glancing at Lucavion without lifting his head. "Stuck. Confused. Quietly furious at herself."

He then let out a quiet hum, then looked back at Lucavion with a faint crease in his brow.

"She broke through," he said, "in a way I’d never seen before."

Lucavion leaned in slightly. "How?"

"She stopped doing everything I taught her."

That earned a sharp blink. "Wait, what?"

"I mean it." Gerald’s tone was laced with something rare—honest intrigue. "Everything I drilled into her—breath control, energy guidance, mental framework—she dropped all of it. Tossed it out like it never made sense to her in the first place."

Lucavion looked skeptical. "Then how did she break through?"

Gerald’s gaze turned distant again, but this time with a glint of fascination. "She listened."

"Listened?"

"To the starlight. To the mana. Not like a cultivator commanding a force... but like a mage whispering to a familiar. She didn’t treat it as a weapon. Or a challenge. She invited it."

Lucavion frowned. "You’re saying she... cast it?"

"Not exactly," Gerald muttered. "But close. Her instincts were different. She wasn’t trying to impose her will. She was trying to understand its will. Like it was alive."

He paused for a beat.

"She followed its rhythm, not her own. Like she was reading a story written in light and just... turned the page."

Lucavion blinked slowly. "...That’s not cultivation. That’s something else."

Gerald nodded, face unreadable. "That’s what made it brilliant. Most cultivators force mana to fit their path. She let the path reveal itself to her. She didn’t break the bottleneck. She let the bottleneck open."

He gave a sharp exhale, still clearly turning the moment over in his mind even now. "She made it feel like the starlight had been waiting for her the whole time. Like she

Lucavion stared. "And you never taught her to do that?"

Gerald shook his head, slow and sure.

"No," he said, voice low. "I never taught her that. Because I wouldn’t have."

Lucavion blinked, caught by the quiet certainty in his tone.

"I’m a builder, kid. A forger. I shape things. I make systems and hammer them into place until they obey. I built the starlight method by commanding the stars to answer." He gestured vaguely at the sky above, like it still owed him something. "That girl... she didn’t command. She listened."

Then Gerald’s hand lifted, and he pointed—not at the sky, but at Lucavion’s chest.

"That’s why, kid. Find your own listening."

Lucavion blinked. "Find... my own listening?"

Gerald gave a soft grunt. "Yeah. Don’t just do what I did. Don’t just imitate the steps like they’re scripture. They’re not. Cultivation isn’t a recipe—it’s a conversation. Find out how your starlight wants to speak to you. And answer it in your voice."

Lucavion stared at him, lips parting, but no words came. He didn’t fully understand it. Not yet. The concept slipped through his thoughts like mist—visible, beautiful, and utterly ungraspable.

Though back this time, he had not grasped the concept instantly...Though, the following day he broke through.

But that—that—was another story.

Gerald leaned back again, spine rolling against the bark, eyes heavy with the drift of the past. After a pause, he continued.

"Before I left," he said, tone softening, "she came to me."

Lucavion turned to him, listening without interruption.

"She didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. Just walked up to me and stood there. For a long time. And then she asked... if I could give her a name."

Gerald chuckled faintly, a breath more than a laugh.

"Said she’d never had one. Said if I gave her one, it’d be real. That it’d mean something."

Lucavion’s brows furrowed. "And... what did you name her?"

Gerald’s eyes softened, and for the first time, his grin wasn’t smug—it was warm.

"Selenne."