Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Lucas didn't waste time. He moved with a quiet certainty that silenced whatever murmurs still lingered in the corners of the vast chamber. He stepped back to the table, his fingers steady as he gathered the necessary tools and ingredients once more. There was no showmanship in his movements, no arrogance in his posture, only calm, measured precision.

The room watched in complete silence. Every breath felt like it might disturb the delicate process they were now too afraid to interrupt.

Flame burst to life at the center of his palm, and the dance began again.

He manipulated the binding process as though it were second nature, weaving flame and essence in delicate harmony. There was a certain grace to his movements, as though he were not simply performing alchemy, but conversing with it, coaxing it gently into form rather than forcing it to obey. The ingredients melted and merged, reacting with one another not in violent sparks, but in a smooth, glowing fusion. The air around the table shimmered with residual heat, but none of it unsettled him. His expression remained composed, eyes locked onto the developing essence like a sculptor shaping something divine.

Seven minutes later, he stopped. No dramatic gestures, no final flourish.

He simply placed the vial down on the table with quiet finality and stepped back, wiping his hands with a cloth and folding them behind him.

The Grand Elder stepped forward cautiously, as though approaching something sacred. When he lifted the vial, the room watched him with baited breath. And then came the silence, so complete it felt as though time itself had paused. His eyes widened.

The purity was even greater than before. Denser. Brighter. More refined. The flame binding essence had surpassed his previous work, already remarkable in its own right, and had now elevated to a level most of the men in the room had spent their entire lives chasing. To reach such a peak twice would have been enough. But to do so again, in a shorter time and with even greater perfection, it was incomprehensible.

The Grand Elder's hand trembled slightly as he held the vial up for the rest to see. Even the most skeptical of Alchemists leaned in now, their previous sneers dissolving into slack-jawed disbelief.

They had mocked him, laughed at him. Ridiculed the idea that a boy of his age could even be competent. And yet, in the space of an hour, he had not only proven them wrong, he had embarrassed them.

This was no mere prodigy, this was an alchemist of terrifying potential.

Each of them now recognized the painful truth. The young boy they had laughed at, the same one they had expected to fail so miserably, had just performed an alchemical feat that placed him on par with the majority of them. And not through sheer luck. Not through some rare fluke or borrowed power. No, he had done it through skill, composure, and a confidence that none of them could now deny.

Talks rose from the corners of the hall, muted voices of awe and disbelief.

"He's… already on our level…"

"And at that age…"

"In a few years… he'll surpass every one of us."

"His future…"

"…it's monstrous."

The Grand Elder placed the vial back down gently, the reverence in his touch now unmistakable.

His voice came softly, but no one missed a word.

"This boy… is not simply talented. He is a gem of the highest order."

In that moment, even the proudest Alchemists in the room knew what had just happened. They had witnessed the rise of someone extraordinary.

The Grand Elder stood tall before the gathered Alchemists, but the look in his eyes no longer bore the hardened sharpness of an examiner or the critical weight of an authority figure. Instead, there was humility in his gaze and the quiet realization that he had just borne witness to a future that neither he nor any of the men in that chamber could have predicted.

He turned fully to face Lucas, then lowered his head slightly, a gesture that made the room still once again.

"Young man," he began, his voice composed but marked with sincerity, "I owe you an apology. I misjudged you. I looked down on your capabilities, and I allowed my own assumptions to cloud what was unfolding before me. That was a mistake. One that I will not forget."

Lucas regarded the man before him with a neutral expression, the stillness in his posture betraying neither pride nor disdain. He could feel the weight of the moment, but he did not bask in it. When he responded, his voice was calm, grounded, and devoid of any arrogance.

"I accept your apology," he said simply, and with that, the tension in the room seemed to exhale.

The Grand Elder nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly, as though relieved by Lucas's grace. He glanced once more at the vial, the pure essence still glowing faintly within the glass, and shook his head slowly.

"In all my years, I have never seen a technique like the one you displayed today," he admitted, the words carrying both awe and disbelief. "Its intricacy, its clarity, its power… it is beyond anything that any of seen since the founding of our conclave."

Of course he had never seen it. How could he? The technique did not belong to this age, nor to this lineage of Alchemists. It was forged in another time entirely, shaped by the knowledge and innovation of a future so distant and evolved that even the greatest minds of the present day could not begin to comprehend its foundations. Lucas knew that. And yet, he said nothing. He merely allowed the silence to stretch, offering no explanation, no hint, no boastful remark, there was no need.

The Grand Elder, moved by what he had witnessed, turned to face the gathering of Alchemists and raised his hand. His voice now carried with the full force of authority, echoing against the high chamber walls.

"By the sacred laws of this Order, and by the standard set before your very eyes, I hereby declare that this young man is not an apprentice...but a Grandmaster Alchemist."

Only the Grand Elder is ranked higher than him, he's an Ascendant ranked Alchemist.

There was a stunned stillness, then a ripple of movement.

The Alchemists who had once scoffed at him, who had whispered insults and made light of his presence, were now rising from their seats. One by one, they approached him. Some offered formal bows, others gave brief nods of acknowledgement. Not a single man in that hall now questioned his right to stand among them. They had seen what he could do, they had been forced to confront the vast chasm that lay between what they had assumed and what was true.

Lucas accepted their gestures with quiet dignity. He did not puff his chest or raise his voice. He gave them soft nods, a warm but measured smile, and words of acknowledgement when necessary. Praise meant little to him now. He had not come here to be adored or exalted. He had come to learn, to refine his path, and to walk it with purpose.

Lady Isabelle stepped forward, her robes brushing lightly across the marble floor as she approached him with a graceful gait. Her eyes were bright, alight with both admiration and lingering astonishment.

"You're extremely talented, Xavier," she said, her voice warm and genuine. "I had no idea when I spoke up that I was speaking for someone of such incredible ability."

Lucas turned to her, offering a grateful smile, one that held no trace of ego. He bowed his head slightly in her direction.

"Thank you," he said. "For speaking when it mattered."