“There must have been human cultivators who opposed it,” she said quietly.

  “Yes. And they were crushed.”

  Lauren’s thoughts flicked to the Ancestor of the Talisman Sect—was he one of those doomed voices of opposition?

  “Why?” she pressed. “Was it just for resources?”

  “No…” Edmund’s eyes darted skyward mid-sentence, wariness flashing.

  Lauren scowled. “You can’t even die, so what the hell are you afraid of?”

  “What do you know?” Edmund snapped, voice ragged. “The longer I’m sealed, the thinner the spiritual energy here becomes. Fewer will ever reach the threshold of ascension. In time, this place will wither into a dead world, without a shred of spiritual power. And worse than death—worse than death—is the endless dark. The endless loneliness. You can’t understand unless you’ve lived it.”

  Lauren stared at him, struck dumb. His words dripped with such despair, such suffocating dread, she could almost feel the void pressing in.

  She reached up, touched him gently. “Okay, okay. I don’t understand. That’s why I’m asking. Don’t tear yourself up.”

  Edmund sighed. “In a small world like Cultivation, what you call the Will of Heaven is, in truth, the Ancient Protoss who govern it.”

  Lauren blinked. “Wait—you mean the Will of Heaven that rules over Cultivation… is you?”

  “Not exactly,” Edmund corrected. “The Ancient Protoss safeguard all small worlds. We accept all species. But humanity wants dominance. They want to break the tradition of shared guardianship and seize control of the local Will of Heaven for themselves.”

  Lauren sucked in a sharp breath.

  Humanity… it was the strongest everywhere she’d seen.

  Boldly, she ventured, “And they also want to overthrow the Ancient Protoss entirely, to claim true immortality for themselves?”

  Edmund stared at her, startled. “You’re just… guessing?”

  Uh… yeah. She really had just guessed. But she’d guessed right.

  “So the lives of the Ancient Protoss are tied to the small worlds,” Lauren pressed. “As long as the worlds don’t collapse, you endure?”

  Edmund considered. “Half-right.”

  “And the other half?”

  “As long as spiritual energy remains and people continue to cultivate, the Ancient Protoss endure. There’s another path—cultivating through faith, feeding on belief. But…” He gave a dismissive snort.

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  “Faith can collapse in an instant. It’s a precarious thing.” Lauren muttered. “Doesn’t sound like a safe bet.”

  “Exactly. Very few walk that path.”

  “Then your power—it isn’t just faith?”

  “No,” Edmund said, with a faint, almost mocking smile. “We’re born this way.”

  Lauren narrowed her eyes. “So the Ancient Protoss… they’re not just dragons, are they?”

  “Of course not. We are the masters of all living things.”

  Her chest tightened with unease. The pieces were falling into place, and the picture they painted was bleak.

  She’d wondered before—if someone had covered the sky, where was the original Will of Heaven? Did it even know? Did it care?

  Now she knew. The Protoss who once steered the heavens had been shackled, one by one, buried in prisons like Edmund.

  The path to heaven wasn’t merely difficult. It was deliberately strangled.

  “I remember what you said before—that Indiana isn’t real. She’s a puppet.”

  “Yes,” Edmund said flatly. “She is the eye of today’s Will of Heaven, placed upon the natal chart. Through her, the Will seeks out those capable of ascension—and ensures they never make it.”

  “Does she even know?”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  Lauren’s fists tightened at her sides. Memories, bitter and raw, surged up. “She didn’t know. But she still did it anyway.”

  “For what?” Edmund asked, curious.

  Lauren’s lips twisted. The Protoss liked to call themselves Heaven’s Will, but in truth? They were no more than self-proclaimed guardians. Bodhisattvas in temples, idols on pedestals—maybe they had some influence, but they weren’t the true cycle of the heavens.

  No, above them, there had to be something greater. A Greater Will of Heaven.

  One without the Protoss’ flaws, one that did not meddle with its own bias. It couldn’t act directly, but it was fairer, more balanced.

  Otherwise, how could she explain her repeated rebirths? Her very existence was proof of something higher. Something watching.

  “Believe it or not, even if I treated her like my own sister, even if I never raised a hand against her, she would still kill me.”

  Edmund didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I told you already—she will do whatever it takes to keep anyone from ascending. Even if she resists, they’ll twist her dreams, whisper in her sleep, guide her step by step until she does exactly what they want.”

  Lauren’s stomach tightened.

  She remembered Indiana’s trembling voice, confessing how nightmares hounded her, how she couldn’t have Nascent Soul. In those dreams, faceless figures told her what to do, where to go, how to claw her way out of despair. That was why she’d returned to Mistvale, why she had walked straight into her so-called destiny.

  “Can she escape it?” Lauren asked softly.

  Edmund gave her a long look. “What? Do you pity her now?”

  “No,” Lauren said firmly. “But if she weren’t chained to fate, it would make her easier to deal with.”

  “Heh.” Edmund’s laugh was low and bitter. “If she weren’t bound by fate, you wouldn’t need to deal with her at all. But that’s not the case. She isn’t your sister. You don’t have a sister. Only humans can change their fate. She’s nothing more than a puppet, carrying out her mission.”

  Lauren rubbed her temples, the pressure in her chest growing heavier. Maybe she’d been thinking about this all wrong.

  She’d been consumed with the idea of killing Indiana quickly, desperately, as if that would solve everything. But wasn’t that just another shackle—another chain around her own mind?

  No. From now on, Indiana wasn’t her true opponent. The ones pulling the strings were—the bastards who had gorged themselves on power and now sought to drag everyone else down with them.

  This wasn’t about her anymore. It wasn’t just about protecting the Evercrest family. It was about everyone.

  And with that shift in thought, her vision cleared. Her purpose sharpened.

  After this journey overseas, she would return. She would tell her master everything. This wasn’t a burden she could carry alone. The entire cultivation world needed to rise against them.

  As their flying boat neared the shimmering barrier of the great beast’s Boundary Force, Edmund’s voice stirred in her mind. “The scaly dragon gave me something. In my current state, it’ll take a long time to digest. Don’t bother me unless it’s truly urgent.”

  And with that, he sank back into silence.