Back at the Dorne Family estate in Washington D.C. it still radiated the grandeur befitting a World Class Family — a sprawling fortress of glass and marble set atop the city’s northern ridge, overlooking the Potomac River like a watchful predator. The night was clear, but within the mansion’s towering halls, tension simred like thunder behind clouds.
Inside the grand hall, an oppressive stillness blanketed the atmosphere. Rows of n in custom made black suits and attendants stood at attention as the enormous double doors opened, revealing Patriarch Armond Dorne — the head of the Dorne Family. His presence alone was enough to silence even the faint hum of the air-conditioning.
Clad in a black bespoke suit lined with faint gold threads symbolizing the Dorne crest — a twin-headed falcon — Aurelian exuded power and calculated nace. His tall fra carried an aura that weighed down on the people around him; it wasn’t just physical strength but a cultivated pressure, honed from decades of dominance in both the business world and cultivation realms.
He stopped by the massive window that overlooked the glowing skyline of D.C., the city lights reflecting in his gray, hawk-like eyes.
"Prepare the convoy," he ordered coldly, his deep voice echoing through the hall. "We leave for Eastridge City within the hour."
At once, his n sprang into action. Outside, the rumble of engines began to fill the courtyard as black SUVs — each marked discreetly with the Dorne Family insignia — lined up in formation. Helicopter blades began to turn on the helipad, their rhythmic thumps rging with the anxious energy that spread through the mansion.
A middle-aged man in a neat suit, the family’s chief steward, approached with careful steps. "Patriarch, if I may — shall I alert the security divisions in Eastridge to coordinate with your arrival?"
Aurelian didn’t turn his head. He continued watching the horizon, voice edged like a blade.
"No need. The less interference, the better. This is family business. The boy who killed my son won’t escape judgnt this ti."
The steward bowed slightly. "Understood, Patriarch."
But just as Aurelian began to move toward the exit, a low chi echoed through the hall. His communicator, resting on a side table, flashed an urgent crimson light — priority-level summons. Only one entity in the entire Arican cultivation world had the authority to send such a signal: The Businessn Alliance.
Aurelian’s eyes narrowed. He walked back to the table and picked up the device. The holographic insignia projected above it bore the seal of the Arican Continental Alliance of Super and World Families.
He tapped the hologram open, and a dignified, chanical voice began to read:
"To all Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the World and Super Class Families under the Arican jurisdiction, a mandatory ergency conference is hereby called. Attendance in person is required. The eting shall comnce in two hours at the Grand Continental Hall in Washington D.C. Attendance is non-negotiable. This summons supersedes all current family operations."
The ssage ended. The red light dimd.
For several seconds, silence ruled the hall again. The only sound was the faint ticking of an antique clock by the wall.
The steward looked up, nervous. "Patriarch... it appears the Alliance has issued a direct order."
Aurelian’s brow furrowed deeply. His fingers tightened around the communicator until the tal creaked. His jaw flexed with restrained fury.
"They choose now to convene a summit?" he said in a low, dangerous tone. "Just as I was about to erase that boy from existence..."
He paced slowly, the soles of his shoes echoing against the polished marble. Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned toward his n.
"Inform the strike team that the operation is temporarily suspended. Tell them to remain on standby at Eastridge’s outskirts. No one moves until I say so."
"Yes, Patriarch!" his guards chorused before vanishing to relay the command.
Aurelian glanced back toward the window again, eyes glinting under the reflection of the city lights. Sowhere beyond that horizon — far beyond D.C. — was Hutton Maxwell, the man responsible for the death of his youngest son.
"You’ve bought yourself so ti, boy," he muttered coldly. "But when this eting is over..."
He turned and adjusted his cufflinks, the faint golden falcon on his wrist gleaming ominously.
"I’ll personally make sure your ti runs out."
With that, Aurelian strode from the hall, his long coat flowing behind him like a dark wave. His convoy, once ant to fly east toward Eastridge, now rerouted toward the heart of D.C. — the Grand Continental Hall, where all the great powers of the Arican continent were gathering under one roof.
Unbeknownst to him, the events waiting within that hall would shape not only the Dorne Family’s vengeance... but the balance of every Super and World Class Family in Arica.
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Back in Cornerstone City, it basked beneath the golden hues of a setting sun. The skyline shimred like glass and steel caught in amber — the towering skyscrapers, the bustling streets below, and the faint hum of comrce that defined the heart of the southern U.S. business capital. Amid it all, standing proud at the center of the city’s financial district, was the city’s main attraction recently, The Green Clover Headquarters — a monuntal ten-story glass structure adorned with the emblem of a flourishing clover leaf, symbolizing growth, prosperity, and rebirth.
Inside, the atmosphere was far calr than the streets outside. The top floor of the building, which had once been filled with Hutton Maxwell’s commanding presence, now housed his trusted aides — Kenneth, Veronica Franklin, and Manager Everlyn.
Kenneth sat behind the executive desk, its dark mahogany surface buried beneath files, digital pads, and holo-screens that projected numbers and reports. Despite his relatively young face, exhaustion lined his eyes — a testant to the chaotic workload that ca with managing Hutton’s business empire.
Across the room, Veronica, dressed in her usual poised corporate attire, was coordinating with several departnt heads via holographic link. Her tone was sharp yet asured, a perfect balance between the elite training of the Franklin Family and the professionalism of a businesswoman. Everlyn, on the other hand, was scrolling through town reports on a tablet near the window, her political instincts and mayoral experience proving invaluable in negotiating with suppliers and local authorities.
Yet, amid all the organized chaos, Kenneth wasn’t focused on business.
His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and rhythmic. The office lights dimd automatically, reacting to his low pulse rate as he sat cross-legged on the floor beside Hutton’s empty chair.
He was ditating.
Just like Hutton had instructed him days ago before they all parted ways.
"Calm your heart, still your thoughts, and listen. The world isn’t quiet — it hums. That hum is your first connection to energy. You mustn’t chase it; you let it find you," Hutton’s words echoed in Kenneth’s mory.
At first, it had felt ridiculous. He was a businessman, not a monk. But the curiosity had gotten the better of him — and perhaps, deep down, the longing to beco even an ounce of what Hutton was.
Now, as Kenneth focused his attention inward, sothing began to stir.
The faint hum of the air conditioner disappeared. The sound of Veronica’s voice, Everlyn’s footsteps, the faint tapping of keys — all of it blurred into the background. What replaced them was an odd, rhythmic pulse — almost like a heartbeat, but not his own.
It resonated through his body — subtle yet unmistakable.
At first, Kenneth panicked. His breathing quickened, but rembering Hutton’s advice, he forced himself to calm down, steadying the rhythm of his breath. He visualized what Hutton told him to: the flow of invisible energy, the way life itself connected every breath, every movent, every living thing.
And then, it happened.
A faint warmth spread across his lower abdon — a point Hutton had called the Dantian. The warmth pulsed softly, like embers fanning to life. The sensation deepened, growing stronger, spreading through his veins. The air around him thickened; even Veronica paused her eting mid-sentence as she felt a faint fluctuation — subtle, but definitely there.
"Wait... what’s that?" she murmured, glancing at Kenneth.
Everlyn turned too, her eyes narrowing as a soft golden shimr began to gather faintly around Kenneth’s body. The energy wasn’t chaotic or wild — it was pure, fragile, and new, like the first ripple on a calm pond.
Kenneth’s fingers twitched. His expression twisted briefly in discomfort — then relaxed completely. His breathing beca one with the rhythm of the energy, syncing perfectly.
Monts later, the light dimd. The hum faded. Kenneth slowly opened his eyes.
A faint spark flickered in his pupils — invisible to most, but undeniable to those who had experienced cultivation before.
He felt... different. His body was lighter, his senses sharper. He could hear the faint buzz of the air vents clearly, feel the vibration of the city beneath the building’s foundation. Most importantly, he could sense the sa subtle energy around him — what Hutton had once called Qi.
"It worked..." Kenneth whispered, staring at his own trembling hands. Then, a grin spread across his face — genuine and disbelieving. "Holy shit... it actually worked!"
Veronica blinked in shock, lowering her communicator. "Wait, Kenneth — are you saying you... cultivated?!"
Kenneth stretching his arms, raising a brow but hiding a small smile as he replied. "It’s faint — but yes, i did. I can feel a trace of Qi on now. Looks like Hutton’s teaching wasn’t all mystic babble after all."
After that, he shot to his feet, excitent coursing through him like adrenaline. "I— I can feel it! The energy... it’s like the air itself is alive!" He flexed his fingers again, a faint breeze swirling around his palm before fading.
Veronica laughed softly, her tension lting away. "Don’t get ahead of yourself, rookie cultivator. You might be able to sense Qi now, but you’re nowhere near Bob or Hutton’s level."
"Not yet," Kenneth shot back with a smirk. "But if Hutton can do it, then so can I. Even if it takes years."
Everlyn chuckled lightly. "You might just surprise us yet. A businessman-turned-cultivator — that’ll make an interesting headline."
Kenneth laughed, still riding the high of his first success. "As long as it doesn’t involve the police, I’ll take it."
Veronica smiled at that, but as she turned toward the large panoramic window overlooking Cornerstone City, her gaze darkened slightly. Beyond the glass, the night lights flickered like stars scattered across the streets — beautiful, but fragile.
Sowhere out there, Hutton Maxwell was moving through a storm of unseen enemies and powerful families.
And for the first ti, Kenneth realized — he might finally have the ans, however small, to stand beside him one day.
He looked down at his palm again, feeling that faint Qi still lingering in his veins.
"Hutton..." he whispered under his breath, determination flashing in his eyes. "I’ll be ready when you need ."
The city lights burned brighter that night — as if answering his newfound resolve.
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