CHAPTER 76: CHAPTER 71: THE CULTIVATION BREAKTHROUGH

Location: Starforge Nexus - Green’s Training Pavilion | Dimensional Pocket (6:1 time dilation)

Time: Day 448, Morning

Three days had passed since the quakeboar incident. Three days of forced rest, accelerated healing, and Isha’s promised lecture on proper tier assessment. The wounds had closed—Runeinfused medical supplies and her abnormally fast healing rate saw to that. But the lesson stuck harder than the cracked ribs had.

Never assume. Always verify. Overconfidence kills.

Jayde stood in Green’s training pavilion, morning light filtering through crystalline walls that caught and scattered essence-light like prisms. The air here tasted clean. Sharp. Nothing like the sulfur-heavy atmosphere of the Dark Forest.

Green circled her slowly, amber eyes assessing. "Your Crucible Core feels different."

"Settled," Jayde said. "The near-death experience forced consolidation."

(Like everything got squeezed tight, then released.)

Stress-induced cultivation advancement. Common phenomenon. The body prioritizes survival.

"You’re at saturation," Green said flatly. "Flamewrought 99.9%. Your core’s straining against its current boundaries like water pressing against a dam." She stopped pacing. "You’re ready."

Jayde’s pulse quickened. "For Inferno-tempered?"

"Yes." Green’s expression was serious. "But advancement to the fourth tier isn’t like your previous breakthroughs. This requires a major Aspect sacrifice. Something significant. Deep emotion or formative trauma." She paused. "What you burn away here will shape who you become."

(Major sacrifice. Like burning away the first beating?)

Larger. That was surface trauma. This requires excavating deeper.

"Sit," Green commanded, gesturing to the cultivation mat at the pavilion’s center. "We’ll examine your Crucible Core first. See what Aspects are available for sacrifice."

Jayde settled cross-legged on the mat, spine straight, hands resting on her knees. The familiar meditation pose. She’d done this hundreds of times in training, but never for something like this.

Never to permanently burn away part of herself.

"Close your eyes," Green instructed. "Sink awareness into your core. Go deeper than you’ve ever gone before. Don’t just sense the Ember Qi—look at the structure itself. The foundation. The scars."

Jayde obeyed.

Her consciousness dove inward, past the surface heat of her Crucible Core, past the swirling pool of Ember Qi that had grown from 85 points to 2,225. Past the familiar pathways of her cultivation.

Down.

Deeper.

Into the foundation where Aspects lived—those fragments of self, memory, emotion that gave cultivation its personal texture.

The core appeared in her mind’s eye as a sphere of orange-gold flame, pulsing like a heartbeat. And there, woven through it like dark threads—

(The shadow thorns. But... there aren’t many?)

She’d expected to see hundreds. Thousands. All the trauma from her fifteen years of slavery, degradation, and pain. But most of the thorns were... gone. Burned away in White’s training and Green’s mental fortitude sessions. The systematic processing of young Jade’s trauma had cleared them systematically.

Only a few remained. Small ones. Minor hurts that didn’t warrant the effort of burning.

"Good," Green said, sensing her examination. "You’ve done well clearing your childhood trauma. Most cultivators your age are still drowning in it." A pause. "But I sense you’re confused. You expected more Aspects to choose from."

"Yes," Jayde admitted, eyes still closed. "I thought—"

"Look deeper," Green interrupted. "You’re only seeing the surface. You have another layer. Another source of Aspects most cultivators don’t possess."

(What does she mean?)

She knows. About the Federation memories.

Jayde’s awareness dove deeper still, pushing past young Jade’s mostly-healed foundation, searching for—

There.

Hidden beneath the child’s cleared trauma, buried in depths she’d never examined, lay another network of shadow thorns. Hundreds of them. Thousands. So many that they formed a second layer around her core like barbed wire wrapped around a prisoner’s heart.

The Federation’s legacy.

Seventy years of trauma, compressed and hidden. All the pain Jayde had endured in that other life—pain she’d never processed, never acknowledged, because there’d been no time. No safety. Just survival, mission after mission, loss after loss, until the antimatter bomb had ended everything.

(So many,) young Jade’s voice whispered, shocked. (I... I never realized. Your life was—)

Brutal. Necessary. Irrelevant now.

"There," Green said with satisfaction. "Now you see your true wealth. The Federation soul brought you more than just tactical knowledge. It brought you fuel." Her voice was gentle despite the harsh truth. "Every trauma is power waiting to be claimed. You can burn these shadows and rise."

Jayde opened her eyes, mind still reeling from the revelation.

"The choice is yours," Green continued. "Select an Aspect—a specific memory, a particular trauma—and we’ll perform the ritual. The emotion attached to that memory will be permanently removed. You’ll remember the events, but the pain, the helplessness, the weight... all of it will turn to ash. And from that ash, you’ll forge new power."

(Which one?) Jade asked quietly. (There are so many.)

Tactical assessment required. Which trauma, when removed, provides maximum operational benefit while minimizing identity disruption?

Jayde sorted through the options. The torture sessions in Xi Corp’s interrogation rooms. The execution of squad members who’d trusted her. The endless years of watching friends die while she survived.

But one memory rose above the others. One that had shaped everything that came after.

"The Gess fighting pits," Jayde said aloud. "My first arena fight."

***

Green’s eyes sharpened. "Tell me."

The memory unfolded with clinical precision.

Age Eight, Federation timeline. Three months after harvest. The Gess facility’s arena, a circular pit with forty-foot walls and a sand floor stained rust-brown from previous fights.

"We were bred in batches," Jayde explained, voice flat. "Fifteen children per group, genetically optimized for combat, neural modifications complete. But Xi Corp wanted... proof of concept. Wanted to see which modifications worked best." Her hands clenched. "So they made us fight each other. To the death."

(No.)

Yes. Standard corporate product testing. Eliminate inferior units, identify superior genetics.

"My first opponent was SN1064. Jace." Jayde’s jaw tightened. "We’d trained together for three years. He was... the closest thing to a friend I’d ever had."

The memory played behind her eyes. Jace’s terrified face across the arena. The announcer’s cold voice declaring that only one would leave alive. The neural dampeners preventing them from refusing or holding back—their bodies compelled to fight, to kill, regardless of what they wanted.

"I almost died," Jayde said. "Jace was stronger, faster. Better at close combat. He got me on the ground, hands around my throat, and I felt my vision starting to black out. I was fifteen seconds from death."

Green listened, silent.

"But then I realized—if I didn’t fight back, I would die. The dampeners meant Jace couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Couldn’t show mercy. It was kill or be killed, and hesitation meant my death." Jayde’s voice dropped. "So I stopped holding back. Activated my neural combat protocols fully. Became what they’d designed me to be."

Survival imperative override. Close-quarters combat optimization. Lethal force authorization.

"I broke his wrist. Dislocated his knee. Shattered his orbital bone with an elbow strike. And when he went down..." Jayde’s voice cracked slightly. "I snapped his neck. Because that’s what you do. That’s what soldiers do."

(You were just trying to survive.)

Correct tactical assessment. But the guilt remains. The helplessness. The knowledge that I killed someone who didn’t deserve to die.

"That’s the Aspect I choose," Jayde said, meeting Green’s eyes. "The helplessness I felt when I realized I had to kill Jace to survive. The guilt that’s lived in my chest for fifty-five years. Burn it away."

Green studied her for a long moment. "A worthy sacrifice. That kind of trauma—survivor’s guilt combined with helpless rage—has weight. Power." She nodded once. "We’ll begin."

***

The ritual setup was simpler than Jayde expected.

No elaborate formations, no special tools. Just Green’s guidance and Jayde’s willingness to let go.

"Sink back into your core," Green instructed. "Find that specific memory. That exact thorn among all the others. Isolate it."

Jayde obeyed, consciousness diving deep again. Past young Jade’s cleared foundation, into the Federation layer, searching through thousands of shadow thorns until—

There.

A thick, twisted barb wound around a core meridian. Black and pulsing, radiating helplessness and guilt like poison through her essence channels. Fifty-five years of carrying that weight. Fifty-five years of remembering Jace’s face, his broken body, the sound his neck made when—

"Found it," Jayde whispered.

"Good. Now—carefully, deliberately—channel Ember Qi into that thorn. Feed the shadow with fire. Let the flame consume it slowly, ash by ash. The pain will be intense. Don’t fight it. Let it burn."

Jayde gathered her Ember Qi, shaped it into a controlled stream, and directed it at the barbed thorn.

The thorn ignited.

Pain exploded through her core—not physical agony, but something deeper. Emotional fire. The memory unfolding in excruciating detail as the flame consumed it. Jace’s terrified eyes. The feeling of his bones breaking under her strikes. His final breath. The knowledge that she’d killed someone she cared about because the alternative was her own death.

The helplessness of being forced to choose.

The guilt of surviving when he didn’t.

The rage at the system that created the choice.

All of it burning. All of it turning to ash.

(It hurts,) Jade whimpered. (Make it stop—)

No. Endure. This is how we forge strength from ruin.

The thorn crumbled, piece by piece, consumed by Inferno essence. And as it burned, Jayde felt something shift. The weight in her chest—the one she’d carried so long she’d forgotten it was there—began to lift.

The memory remained. Crystal clear, actually. She could still see Jace’s face, still remember every detail of that fight. But the feeling attached to it... the crushing guilt, the helpless rage...

Gone.

Ashes.

The thorn disintegrated completely, and Jayde gasped as her Crucible Core expanded. The boundaries that had constrained her Flamewrought cultivation shattered like glass, and her Ember Qi pool surged—

Numbers flashed across her awareness. 2,225... 5,000... 10,000... 12,000...

The surge didn’t stop.

15,475.

Her core stabilized at 15,475 Qi, blazing brighter and hotter than ever before. Her meridians reinforced themselves, essence channels widening to accommodate the increased power. Physical changes rippled through her body—muscles denser, bones stronger, reflexes sharper.

And two new techniques crystallized in her awareness, knowledge flowing directly from the advanced tier:

Flame Torrent - Area attack, sweeping cone of fire. Cost: 45 Qi.

Ember Step - Explosive dash technique, essence-fueled burst of speed. Cost: 30 Qi.

Jayde opened her eyes, breathing hard.

Green was staring at her with an expression caught between satisfaction and sharp surprise. "Fifteen thousand," she said slowly. "Your Qi pool increased by over thirteen thousand points."

(Is... is that wrong?)

"Normal Inferno-tempered advancement provides ten thousand," Green said carefully. "You gained considerably more than standard."

Internally, Green’s mind raced. The flame burns hotter than it should. She heals faster than any Flamewrought I’ve trained. Advancement speed that defies logic. And now this—a fifty-percent surge beyond normal parameters. Her ancient instincts whispered possibilities. Hidden bloodline? Dragon heritage somehow manifesting despite the Voidforge seal? Or something else entirely... something even the Divine Tome can’t fully read. Your body is hiding secrets, girl.

But centuries of experience had taught Green when to speak and when to observe. Whatever secrets this girl’s body held, pushing too hard for answers would only create walls. Better to watch. To document. To see what else emerged.

Green didn’t voice her suspicions. Instead, she simply nodded. "Congratulations. You’re Inferno-tempered now. A real cultivator."

Jayde flexed her hands, feeling the new power humming through her veins. The fire inside her burned hotter, steadier, and more controlled than ever before. She was stronger. Faster. More dangerous.

And one step closer to being ready for what was coming.

(We did it.)

Affirmative. Tier advancement successful. Operational capability significantly enhanced.

But then young Jade’s voice spoke again, quieter this time. More thoughtful.

(Jayde... can I ask something?)

Go ahead.

(Do you resent it?) Jade’s internal voice was small. (That I was the part of the soul that stayed on Doha, while you had to live almost seventy years in the Federation? All those years of pain, of fighting, of... of killing people like Jace. Do you resent that I got to stay here, that I didn’t have to endure what you did?)

The question hung in the space between them.

And Jayde... laughed.

Not bitterly. Not cruelly. Just a genuine, amused laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep.

(We are the same,) Jayde said simply. It makes no difference who stayed and who went to the Federation. We’re one soul, one person. Your pain is my pain. My strength is your strength. There’s nothing to resent because there’s no separation. Not really.

For the first time—truly, completely—young Jade understood.

They weren’t two different people sharing a body. They were one person with two perspectives. One soul that had lived two lives and was only now becoming whole.

(Oh,) Jade breathed. (We really are the same.)

Always were. Just took you fifteen years to realize it.

Unknown to either consciousness, something shifted deep within Jayde’s soul. The barrier between the two fragments—the wall that had kept young Jade’s voice separate, distinct—began to thin. Just barely. Just enough to start the true integration process.

It would take time. Months, maybe years. But the process had begun.

In the corner of the pavilion, Isha watched with ancient eyes, his emerald tail flicking once in acknowledgment.

Finally, he thought. True integration. Not just coexistence, but synthesis.

He could see what Jayde couldn’t—that young Jade’s separate voice would slowly fade as the soul pieces merged completely. Not violently, not traumatically, but gradually. Naturally. Like two streams joining into one river.

But Isha said nothing.

He could see that Jayde treated young Jade like a younger sister. Someone to protect, to teach, to shelter. That protective instinct, while touching, was actually one of the things slowing complete integration. Jayde needed to stop thinking of Jade as separate, stop treating her as "other," before the synthesis could complete.

Better to let it happen naturally. Let Jayde adjust slowly, without even realizing it, as young Jade’s voice became less distinct, less separate, until one day she’d simply be... whole. One unified consciousness instead of two cooperating fragments.

Isha wondered what that unified person would be like. A child’s heart with a veteran’s mind? A warrior’s strength tempered by innocence? Something entirely new?

Time would tell.

"Stand," Green commanded, breaking the moment. "Test your new capabilities. Move. Cast. Feel how the power flows now."

Jayde rose smoothly—smoother than before, her body responding with Inferno-tempered precision. She extended her hand and channeled Qi into a Flame Spark.

The projectile burst forth with nearly three times the intensity of before, burning hotter, brighter, flying faster. The heat it generated made the air shimmer.

"Flame Torrent," Green said. "Try it."

Jayde shaped the technique in her mind, felt the knowledge slot into place like muscle memory. She gathered 45 Qi, channeled it through her reinforced meridians, and released—

A cone of fire erupted from her palms, sweeping in a wide arc. The flames roared like a furnace, consuming oxygen, radiating heat that forced even Green to step back. It lasted three seconds before Jayde cut the flow, leaving scorch marks across the pavilion floor.

(Whoa.)

Effective area denial weapon. Useful against multiple opponents or creating barriers.

"And Ember Step," Green said, eyes gleaming with approval. "Show me."

Jayde focused, gathered 30 Qi, and moved—

The world blurred. One moment she was standing at the pavilion’s center, the next she’d crossed fifteen feet in an explosive burst of speed, essence-flames trailing behind her like a comet’s tail. The dash technique didn’t just move her quickly—it moved her instantly, too fast for most opponents to track.

"Good," Green said with satisfaction. "You’re ready now. Truly ready." She crossed her arms. "The mid-ring of the Dark Forest won’t seem so overwhelming anymore. Your power, your techniques, your experience—you can handle what’s out there now."

Jayde nodded, feeling the truth of it. She was Inferno-tempered. A fourth-tier cultivator. Not just a beginner struggling to survive, but a real threat.

(We’re strong now,) Jade said with wonder. (Really strong.)

Affirmative. But strength is a tool, not a guarantee. Never forget the quakeboar. Power means nothing if applied incorrectly.

"Rest today," Green instructed. "Let your core stabilize fully. Tomorrow, we’ll discuss hunting strategies for Inferno-tempered prey." She smirked. "And proper tier assessment techniques, since apparently you still need work on that."

(She’s never going to let us forget the quakeboar, is she?)

Negative. Instructors remember student failures. It’s how they teach humility.

But Jayde didn’t mind. The lesson had been harsh but necessary. And now, with Inferno-tempered power flowing through her veins and new techniques at her command, she was ready to face the deeper forest.

Ready to hunt real prey.

Ready to continue the path she’d started fifteen years ago, when a broken child and a dead soldier’s soul had merged into something new.

Something stronger than either had been alone.