CHAPTER 106: DRAGON’S REALM? BUT...GOLD GATE?

For three days, Lynnor trained Mozrael to be able to control her strength. She learned to sense things both near and far, how to hide her presence, and how to control her marks.

They could never disappear, but she could make them stop glowing, so they just looked like normal tattoos. The gold colors that appeared never left as well. Now, her marks were a mixture of gold and blue, with subtle black. At times, the gold colors outshone the blue, and other times, the blue outshone the gold.

The times when gold appeared dominant were when she was using her abilities.

Her best way of understanding the limits of her powers was through mock battles with Lynnor.

Lynnor faced her in several battles to train her, and strangely enough, Mozrael didn’t need any correction or guidance. Her understanding of any new abilities she’d unlocked came naturally.

This noon, while Aramith cultivated, she was faced with Lynnor in her heartless form.

The clearing shuddered with every clash.

Flame against the invisible shockwaves of Lynnor’s strikes, and the air ringing with sharp vibrations that split branches and shattered stones. Mozrael’s marks flared gold, then dimmed to blue—a temporary boost. Her movements grew sharper, instinct guiding her through patterns she’d never practiced.

Lynnor danced through it all with a grin."Pathetic. Are you even trying, kid?" she sneered, swatting aside a stream of dragonflame that scorched a trench into the soil.

Mozrael gritted her teeth, forming her flames into a blade that hummed with heat. She lunged again, faster this time, forcing Lynnor to twist aside.

"Oh? Not bad. Almost singed me, but you’re predictable. You might just reach half my greatness in a few decades."

Each taunt made Mozrael push harder, though her body shook with strain. Every time she staggered, her marks pulsed brighter, instinctively correcting her stance, teaching her without words.

Meanwhile, Aramith sat cross-legged at the edge of the clearing they’d burned, trying to sink into cultivation. But the booms, the quaking earth, and the stench of scorched bark kept breaking his focus. His breath hitched when he heard Lynnor’s laugh echo.

"Aramith, you’re slower than a snail rotting in the sun," Lynnor called mid-strike. "At this rate, Mozrael will leave you behind before you even touch the first gate."

He clenched his jaw and ignored her. His core churned sluggishly. He was making progress, but it was painfully thin. He shut his eyes tighter, until the next explosion rattled through his bones.

With a long exhale, he rose, quietly tracing a path away from the battlefield. Each step took him deeper into the quiet of the woods, far enough that the roar of flames and the shattering blasts softened into distant echoes.

At last, silence. Finally, he could breathe, could feel the faint stream of energy stir inside him. Still weak, still below the pace he needed.

Back at the clearing, Lynnor raised a hand as Mozrael collapsed to one knee, panting hard, flames flickering out. Her marks dulled, the last pulse fading like a dying ember.

"Heh. You lasted longer than yesterday," Lynnor admitted, almost as praise. "Still leagues beneath me, but you might not embarrass yourself completely."

Mozrael fell back, letting the dirt cool her burning skin, chest heaving. This time, she didn’t mind Lynnor’s words. She was simply too exhausted.

Lynnor let her rest for a while, then gave her a light push with her foot."Go on. Your brother’s sulking somewhere. Best check he hasn’t dissolved into tears."

Mozrael managed a weak smile as she forced herself upright, wiping dust from her arms before trudging toward the forest.

In all this, what she felt great about was how, despite his progress, Aramith didn’t allow the slow pace of his progress to make him feel down. He was instead trying harder.

Aramith had found a rhythm at last, faint but steady, like the quiet dripping of water on stone. The stream of energy inside him no longer stuttered as badly as before. By the time he rose from his seated stance, the sun was a molten smear against the horizon. His shoulders ached, but for once, it felt like progress.

He didn’t notice Mozrael until she burst from the trees, her face streaked with dirt, and her hair sticking to her cheeks.

"There you are," she huffed, then immediately brightened when she saw him standing.

The sun was already melting into the treeline. Cultivation was still exhausting, but Aramith could feel the faint burn of progress deep inside him. His steps were steadier than this morning’s, his breathing a touch more controlled. These were the subtle changes he noticed each day.

At times, he felt like he was making himself believe these changes were occurring so he didn’t feel left out, and other times, he understood that he was really making progress.

Beside him, Mozrael tiptoed along the curve of a fallen trunk, arms stretched out for balance. Every now and then, she glanced his way, her lips curving into the smallest of smiles before quickly looking down at her feet.

"You’re... better than before," she said softly, hopping down onto the path with a quiet thud. Her voice barely rose above the whisper of the evening breeze.

Aramith smirked faintly. "Better is still far from good."

Mozrael’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she skipped ahead a few steps, then crouched on a stump, eyeing a strange party of a mushroom, a dead cricket, and several ants while waiting for him to catch up. When he did, she slid off quickly.

By the time they returned, the smell of roasted meat greeted them warmly. Lynnor had already set food aside, bowls neatly arranged.

"Eat," she said firmly, her eyes flicking to Mozrael with purpose.

Mozrael sat cross-legged and began nibbling at her portion, small bites, almost dainty.

"Faster," Lynnor urged gently but insistently. "We’ll check your cultivation realm after this."

Mozrael lowered her gaze, nodding quickly, and stuffed another bite into her mouth, her cheeks puffing slightly as though she wasn’t used to eating quickly.

Aramith watched quietly as he saw her shrink a little under Lynnor’s gaze.

He sighed, but let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. For all her sharp edges in battle, Mozrael looked almost like a child now, stuffing her face with food so she could finish quickly.

When she noticed him staring, she quickly hid her face and forced down the food, almost choking on it.

"Choking on food is one of the most embarrassing ways a person can die," Lynnor shook her head.

The rest of the meal was filled with silence.

Aramith stood by, watching the two. After a few words of instruction, Mozrael and Lynnor settled down cross-legged. Their posture straightened, eyes closed, their breathing slowed until silence stretched over them.

Moments passed.

Aramith’s gaze lingered. He knew enough to understand what was going on. When entering one’s cultivation realm, the body should remain still, as if asleep. No sound. No motion. Only their souls traveled within that hidden space where gates and spirit intertwined.

At first, all seemed normal. Mozrael’s calm was almost unsettling, as though she had slipped away without resistance.

But with time, Aramith noticed a difference. Lynnor’s face tightened, a faint crease forming between her brows. The longer the silence dragged, the deeper that distress carved itself into her expression.

His stomach turned. This wasn’t right. Their bodies should remain neutral, unmoved, yet Lynnor looked as if she were enduring something unbearable. Her lips trembled a little, and she breathed heavily despite her meditative state.

Aramith’s chest tightened, a ripple of unease crawling down his spine. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Mozrael, what is this?" Lynnor asked. She’d never felt this much fear before.

Mozrael looked at Lynnor, clearly confused. "What do you mean?" This was her realm, and they’d entered just like Lynnor asked, but why was Lynnor acting so differently? It seemed the cocky woman was panicking.

Lynnor looked around and shuddered. Even in her spirit form, she felt cold.

The aura in this place was thick, and constant roars echoed everywhere. That wasn’t the fact that shook her.

It was the similarity between this realm and Lynnor’s own realm. She was at the Dragon’s Gate, and Mozrael was at Gold. Her realm should have had that gold sheen one saw in their realm when at the Gold Gate, but not mozrael.

Her realm took the form of Lynnor’s realm. And greater than that, it was more advanced and intimidating.

You only felt like that when you were in the cultivation realm of someone greater than you.

"Mozrael?" Lynnor called out.

Mozrael just stared in confusion.

"How long has it been like this?"

Mozrael didn’t understand. "What do you mean? She was getting worried.

"Since when did your cultivation realm become like this? Was it right after you broke through?"

Mozarel thought for a bit. She remembered when Lynnor showed them her realm, so she understood what a cultivation realm looked like. Because of that, she never questioned anything when she saw her realm looking like this.

"It was like this when I first entered," she replied.

Lynnor’s eyes widened.

Her realm looked like this before she broke through?

BOOM!

A loud burst of thunder shook through Lynnor, and a coldness crawled over her skin, into her chest.Yet Mozrael stood still, perfectly composed, as if none of it touched her.

Lynnor’s face tightened, panic edging in. Her soul shouldn’t feel this distressed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but her chest constricted as though invisible chains had wrapped around her ribs.

That’s when she noticed that those faint glimmers in the dark weren’t stars. They were eyes. Dozens, maybe hundreds, watching. Unblinking. Patient. Waiting.

Her gaze darted between Mozrael’s calm figure and the endless eyes pressing closer.

Was this girl really at the Gold Gate?