Damien stared at the old man, Tesulsn, as he'd called himself. He didn't bother asking where he'd gotten the name from, given how ancient the man definitely was. It was probably from some lost civilization or something.

  "Correct," the man nodded and then smiled when Damien's eyes widened. "Until you learn a modicum of mental shielding, your surface thoughts will remain open to anyone with enough will to pierce through your natural mental barrier."

  Damien didn't know what to say. He'd always prided himself on the impossibility of his mind being intruded without his awareness... Which, now that he thought about it, shouldn't have surprised him, given who was standing before him. The old man could probably rewrite his thoughts and Damien wouldn't even suspect a thing.

  "Take a seat, Damien," Old man Tesulsn gestured to the left—Damien's left—where a chair that Damien was pretty sure hadn't been there before was now standing.

  With a lessening level of surprise, Damien moved to take his seat, unsurprised to find the old man already seated when he turned back.

  "You know my father," Damien spoke the moment he sat. Normally, he shouldn't have been the one to speak first, given he was the younger here, but he just couldn't help himself.

  Old man Tesulsn seemed not to take offense because he smiled, nodded, and then in a fond tone, he said. "Like I said before, you're just like your father. Aizrah was never one for authority either. He detested them bitterly, even more than you, I might add."

  Unconsciously, Damien leaned forward. "Why?"

  He understood the disregard for authority. Damien might have shown respect to a few powerful people, but that was only because of how powerful they were. He had first-hand experience with how the powerful treated those they considered beneath them, and he hated it to the core. Not to say he wasn't guilty. No, Damien had at multiple times bullied his juniors into doing his bidding against their will, but one thing he was proud of was that he'd never laid hands on them, not that that was much different, given how painful an aura pressure could get.

  Instead of answering his question directly, the old man asked. "Would you believe if I told you that your father was once a slave?"

  Damien grunted. "I know essentially nothing about him other than the few bits you've just given me. No, I can't say I'm surprised." He shook his head. "Though that defeats the image of indomitability everyone seems to have of him."

  The old man smiled. "Do not doubt his strength, he is powerful. Very. The difference between what I've just told you and what you seem to have guessed is timing.

  "Compared to how slavery was done during his time, this present era could as well be considered tame. Then, slavery wasn't a thing of choice and opportunity, where the powerful took the slightest chance to lock anyone, with only the barest bit of the law behind them. The difference between slavery and freedom then was how powerful you were. If you were weak, a chain would eventually find its place around your wrists and you would've been too powerless to stop it.

  "Aizrah had been a simple foundation realm wielder when his village was raided and he was put in chains." The man nodded at the recognition in Damien's expression. "Yes, I see the similarity in both of your situations. Except where you and your brother escaped the butchering that occurred in yours, Aizrah didn't.

  "A few years before Aizrah rounded out his second decade, he ended up—alongside many others— as the property of a young lord. At just the mid stages of the foundation realm, he found himself thrown Into the arena to battle it out with monsters a tier above him and, sometimes, a whole realm."

  Damien grimaced, certain now where he got his hatred for slavery from. Back on Ra, slavery had been prevalent in every society, the greater ones especially. But unlike what old man Tesulsn was describing, the ones on Ra hadn't been that much openly acknowledged.

  Oh, the people knew about it; there was no doubt about that, but many just chose not to acknowledge it, and the few who did suddenly found themselves disappearing.

  "For the better part of a century and change, your father found himself the plaything of those who mixed business with pleasure. He fought, and he killed both monsters and friends alike."

  At Damien's surprise, the man chuckled. "Yes, friends were pitted against each other. It was a source of great entertainment for the masters, watching those bonded by slavery claw at each other just for the chance to live another day. And most of the winners didn't even live past the next day.

  "Aizrah was one of the lucky few who did. The will that boy had in him, a defiance which burned brighter than any star," the old man smiled wistfully. "That was what drew my attention to him.

  "Your father, you see, despite being in chains longer than the lifespan, twice over, of some of those who'd started with him, still didn't give up hope. Oh, he despaired, certainly. He cried, wailed, and cursed at the heavens for his situation. Sometimes, he got the whip for it, a construct infused with the essence of mind and blood to inflict the most pain while leaving the victim with enough energy to survive.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "And despite all that, Aizrah lived, or more correctly, he thrived. Your father grew powerful, not as fast as you, don't get me wrong, but steadily enough that when he finally stepped into the realm of Spirit lord, he became one of the champions of the arena, a feat he was more than worthy of, considering how long he'd spent."

  The man smiled again, but this time, Damien noted how different it was. This wasn't the little compassionate smile he'd shown at intervals during his narration. No, this was something different. Ruthlessness mixed with a huge dose of pride.

  "You mortals have this saying: 'For every unfortunate situation, there will, eventually, come a turning point.'"

  Damien nodded, he understood that very well. No situation was permanent.

  "Aizrah's turning point came at the realm of Spirit lord when he was pushed to the brink so far his mind finally snapped."

  The old man gestured at Keilan's sleeping form as he continued. "You might not know this, but the soul, amongst other things, is a culmination of a person's experience. The greater the experience, whether good or bad, the faster and greater the soul grows. And your father had an endless well of terrible experiences to grow from.

  "There comes a time when a being is pushed to the brink, with a choice given to either succumb and die or endure and prosper," the old man said. "It doesn't work the same way for everyone, but those who pass through this crucible always come out with something tangible, a more stronger link with the element from which they draw strength from."

  "An Ascended Art," Damien realized with a whisper. He and Keilan hadn't spoken much about it then, but from what his brother had said, it was like being put between a meat grinder and a wall. All you had to do to escape the meat grinder was to break through the wall.

  "Yes," Old man Tesulsn said with a nod. "Keilan here isn't the first person to wield an Ascendant art in the realm of Spirit lord. Far from it, he's not even among the first thousand. But what he and a few others like him have in common is that they survived through the experience, a thing most could not accomplish.

  "Wielding an Ascended technique links your mind and soul to your Essence plane, unbarring it to the undiluted weight of that plane, a harrowing of which only a few could survive at the Spirit lord realm. Survive and you come out with a technique no one below the Divine King tier could ever hope to achieve. Lose? Well," the man shrugged. "You'll still come out with a technique, just not with your life."

  Damien nodded in understanding. Keilan's situation was example enough. "So my father, Aizrah," Damien tasted the word, and found it awkward. Nevertheless, he pushed forward. "He became free when he called on an Ascended Art?"

  "Yes," Old man Tesulsn nodded. "And it—"

  "Wait!" Damien interrupted with a frown. How could he have forgotten this? "Gray warned against the consequences of discovering who my father is."

  Chuckling despite the fearful expression on Damien's face, the old man said. "Ahh, the Karmic link effect." He nodded. "Luckily for you, I took that into consideration when I told you his name."

  He smiled.

  "Aizrah is your father's origin name, same as how Daimen is yours, which is ironic—" he chuckled. "—Given your disposition on Domination."

  Damien frowned. "Daimen? Is that truly my real name?"

  Tesulsn nodded. "Both bear the same meaning, but Damien is of your own making. I wonder why."

  "What do you mean you took into consideration when you told me my father's name?"

  Tesulsn nodded. "Aizrah is your father's original name, and in the aftermath of his escape from slavery, the name was all but forgotten—willingly— and then replaced with another, which then grew into the center of his being. In essence, Aizrah is still his name, but another has much weight."

  Damien stared at the man in confusion. Many of the things he'd just said had only served to pull Damien into a deeper well of confusion, he guessed probably because there was more nuance to it than the man was revealing. However, he still understood the basics. The name Aizrah didn't hold as much weight as the name he was currently using, which made it impossible for their karmic link, as Gray had put it, to light up.

  Satisfied, Damien turned back on their earlier discussion.

  "We seem to have diverged from our original discussion," Damien said, ignoring the fact that he'd been the cause of said diversion. "You were telling me about the crucible of my father."

  "There's nothing much to say after this," the old man shook his head. "Due to his constant, unfortunate situation for years, his alignment took noticeable leaps until the day of his freedom, and then all hell broke loose."

  "What happened?"

  "Unlike your brother here whose Art manifested in the deserted skeleton of a former metropolis," the old man said. "Aizrah's was the opposite."

  Damien grimaced at that. While he understood the rage his father must have felt, the sheer loss of life was enough to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Intuited that that was the end of the story, Damien sat back, resting his back fully on the backrest. To say he was happy would be an understatement, Damien was ecstatic. At last, he knew something of where he came from. No doubt, he loved where he'd grown up in, the people who saw to his wellbeing right from his awakening, but there had still being this neverending need to know about his origin, where he came from. Now that he knew something, a smidgen, he was sure, compared to the troves of knowledge out there, the hunger within him was finally sated, at least temporarily.

  Still, he couldn't help but feel a sense of inadequacy at hearing about the feat of his father, especially his accomplishment at Spirit lord. It seemed Damien was the only untalented one in the family.

  "Ahh," Old man Tesulsn smiled sadly. "I know that look. Trust me, it'll do you no good."

  "Why?" Damien retorted bitterly. "It's not like it isn't true. Both Keilan and my father manifested an Ascended technique at the realm of Spirit lord, a near impossible feat, from what everyone seems to say. I'm the only one who hasn't, and I'm already at mid tier Spirit lord."

  The old man smiled knowingly. "I'm guessing that's the reason why you've chosen to stall your advancement, despite the river of potential I can sense swirling within you?"

  Damien didn't answer, but the turn of his head answered for him. The man wasn't lying, Damien had continually stalled his advancement in the hope of atleast achieving something noteworthy right before his push for Spirit King. He hated the feeling of inadequacy that flashed through his mind whenever he saw Keilan or Vanis. The sense that he was nothing compared to them. And while he knew, deeply, that he could stand toe to toe with any of them, that feeling still refused to go away.

  "While I have the answer you seek—" Damien's head rose sharply just as Old man Tesulsn's voice reached his ears, closer than before.

  His eyes rose to meet the man standing before him, who leaned heavily on his staff with one hand while another slowly approached Damien's forehead. "—i think there's someone else whose answer would fit you the most," the man finished just as his finger touched Damien's forehead, and all went black.