Threads Of Destiny(Eastern Fantasy, Sequel to Forge of Destiny)

An Instance of Glory; Eternal

Stumbling back to his home, Chen Jun could feel the stares of pity and contempt from the various cousins that populated the compound. Another day, devoting his whole to a singular art, and another rejection. No talent, they whispered, no spark of creativity, they gossiped. The failure of the Chen, they laughed. No matter the drive, no matter the devotion, nothing he touched came out properly. Poems sounded clunky and dull, paintings lifeless and limp, pottery fractured and broken, tea pungent and spoiled.

Even his cultivation was slow. Being fifteen years old, edging on sixteen even, and in the middle of the Yellow realm was acceptable, for a mortal. But he was a scion of the Chen, a noble family that could trace a lineage back to the time of the Dragon Gods. A proud and distinguished family did not deserve to be disgraced with such a failure of a descendant. Even his father could not seem to help him, despite the late-night sessions of individual instruction. And he was a figure firmly established in the Cyan Realm! If an immortal of the Cyan realm, his own father no less, could not help him than it seemed the Spirits themselves had spited him!

The rage building quickly in his heart gutted and dimmed as he felt his father waiting for him at home. It was… going to be an awkward dinner. Pulling off his shoes, and sitting them in the appropriate cubby, he made his way to the dining room. Hiding from their difficulties had never been the Chen's way of doing things.


There was little conversation during dinner, and Father seemed content to occupy himself with drinking tea while Mother attempted to spark some conversation. He appreciated the effort, but it was a futile exercise in sympathy. The attempts petered out eventually, and then Mother was called away to deal with this or that regarding clan administration, leaving just him and Father at the table. It was then that Father decided to speak.

"It seems that there have been some difficulties in your pottery class Chen Jun, would you like to talk about them?"

"I… I would rather not Father. Suffice to say that it does not appear that pottery is the way to express my artistic talent. I was… hoping for some… more instruction Father, in the art of painting landscapes."

"Jun… I have seen the effort you have placed into the artistic fields our clan is known for. I have seen you practice your calligraphy with blood when the inkpot run dry, I have seen you use tears to paint when more precious pigments were denied to you, and I have seen you use sweat to keep the clay on the spinning wheel. For all of your efforts, all of your struggles, all of your drive, I am proud to call you my son.

Something bloomed in his chest, and he felt his throat constrict. "Thank you, Father, I will endeavor not to disappoint you."

"I have faith that you will not Chen Jun. However, while I am proud to call you my son, I can not call you an artisan."

With that statement, the blooming emotion in Chen Jun's chest was strangled, crushed by the weight of disappointment and bubbling despair.

Struggling to restrain the sobs that threatened to overcome him, he asked the only question left in his mind, "What… what, what am I to do then?"

"I… would be a poor father if I could not give advice in times of distress. For the next month, you will be given access to some of the more basic combat arts of our clan, and after that month I will bring you to Storm's Peak. There I will leave you for a single month with supplies to last you that long. During that time, you will pursue a singular goal, to slice a lightning bolt. When you succeed, more advanced training and access to potent medicines and elixirs will be yours. Do you understand?"

"I… I understand, Father."


The month following his change in circumstances was brutal. Every day would begin well before dawn and end well after dusk. Sleep came fitfully when there was time at all, and dreams of failure plagued him regularly. But the results, the results spoke volumes. Every draw with his piandao was getting faster, every sweep holding more power, every strike more confident. Given his stated task, he focused on practicing the combat arts that emphasized the speed of a drawing sword and perception arts that sped up his perception of the world around him. First bamboo fell to his blade, then leaping fish, and finally flying sparrows. His draw was faster than it ever had been, his stroke more sure, his arts polished to the degree he was able. And then it was time.

After the customary greetings with his father, Chen Jun was silent on the trip to Storm's Peak. Father didn't break the silence either, instead parting the storm with a wave of his hand and quelling the rambunctious spirits that swirled on the currents of wind within. Settling on the peak, where a strangely placid lake with a small island in the middle rested, Father gave s short curt nod to him and then disappeared in a flash of lightning. All that was left was the supplies he had been given, and the task ahead.

Strangely… there was a lack of fear, now that he was here. There was simply the task, and the drive to complete it. Here, upon the peak, time seemed to move slowly. Lightning flashed, seemingly crawling through the air like snakes, striking the lake with violent fury. But no strike seemed to ruffle the still waters, each flash and bulging cloud perfectly reflected as if by a serene mirror.

Chen Jun began his task, striking with swift sure movements. However, each strike sliced only the air and wind, any lightning in the path had long since disappeared leaving only a turbulent thunder. And yet he kept trying, attempting to predict that which couldn't be predicted. He kept trying, however, and without knowledge of day or night, for the sun did not rise in this place, nor did the moon set, only the storm remained constant, he kept practicing. Strike after strike missed the flashing lightning, and yet he remained calm. Fear and doubt would not help him here, only calm surety.

Then he felt it, a churning of the clouds, the gathering of energy. Lightning would come straight in front of him, within reach of the sword. He knew where it was going to be, and all that remained was the speed of his sword. Time seemed to slow even further, seconds stretching until all that remained was one moment after another. Light gathered and flash, the bolt screaming down to the earth, moment by moment. In the space between moments, however, Chen Jun's sword drew and cut, slicing the lightning in half.

He could feel the energy coursing through his body to the earth, each placid beat of his heart pumping blood and lightning. He could feel the blade heating and distorting under the strength of the blow. He could feel the storm beginning to quell and the presence of a Cyan approaching. But he could also see the reflection in the lake, of a young man in perfect posture and with a flashing sword cutting the lightning in twain. It was a single, glorious instance, the time between moments, and it was a reflection that he would remember eternally.


A/N: Another omake for the omake throne @yrsillar. I hope that those reading this enjoy it!