I Can Create Clones

Dawn broke gray and cold over Skyvault City, but Lysander Drake had been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling of his rented room in the merchant quarter. The stranger's words echoed in his mind like a haunting melody—core restructuring, unrealized potential, power beyond anything your family has ever produced.

He rolled out of bed and moved to the window, watching early morning merchants set up their stalls in the street below. Normal people living normal lives, blissfully unaware of the spiritual hierarchies that governed their world. Part of him envied their ignorance.

Moonfall Hill at midnight. The location itself was significant—an ancient shrine dedicated to forgotten gods, where the spiritual energy was said to be particularly potent. If someone were actually attempting core manipulation, it would be the perfect place. It was also isolated enough that screams wouldn't carry to the city below.

Lysander spent the morning researching what little information he could find about the shrine.

The texts in the public library were frustratingly vague, but they confirmed what he suspected—Moonfall Hill had been used for spiritual rituals for centuries. The shrine itself was built over a natural convergence of ley lines, making it a nexus of raw cultivation energy.

If he's planning to kill me, Lysander thought grimly, at least he chose a poetic location.

But the stranger's knowledge haunted him. The casual way he'd spoken about spiritual pathways and core evolution suggested understanding that went far beyond theoretical knowledge. And those details about the family corruption—details that should have died with the conspirators—implied resources and information networks that defied explanation.

By midday, Lysander found himself walking the city streets, his feet carrying him toward the residential districts where his family maintained their compounds.

He stopped at the gates of the main estate, staring through the ornate iron bars at the gardens where he'd once played as a child.

"Can I help you, sir?" A guard approached, his tone polite but wary.

"Just remembering," Lysander said quietly, then turned away before the guard could recognize him.

The afternoon brought a different kind of torment. He visited the cultivation districts, watching young disciples practice their techniques in academy courtyards.

Their spirit cores blazed with healthy energy, unmarred by trauma or betrayal. He remembered being their age, full of confidence and dreams of future glory.

One particularly promising student caught his attention—a girl perhaps sixteen years old whose intermediate basic spirit core flared with impressive control. She reminded him of himself at that age, before politics and corruption had shattered his world.

What would I tell my younger self? he wondered. That talent means nothing without allies? That family bonds are more fragile than paper? That power without wisdom is just elaborate suicide?

The sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the city in shades of gold and amber. Lysander returned to his room and sat in meditation, trying to feel the damaged pathways the stranger had spoken of.

Deep within his core, beyond the spiritual scar tissue and blocked channels, he could sense something—potential coiled like a sleeping serpent, waiting for the right catalyst to awaken.

Or maybe I'm just desperate enough to imagine hope where none exists.

As evening fell, Lysander made his decision. He donned his finest remaining clothes—a midnight blue robe that had once marked him as main family, now faded but still elegant. If he was walking into a trap, at least he would face it with dignity.

The climb to Moonfall Hill took nearly an hour through winding paths that grew increasingly treacherous in the darkness.

Ancient trees stretched overhead like gnarled fingers, their branches blocking most of the starlight. The only illumination came from spirit stones embedded in the path—a concession to the shrine's occasional visitors.

As he climbed higher, the air itself seemed to thicken with spiritual energy. His damaged core resonated with the ambient power, causing phantom pains to flare along his meridian channels.

Whatever had happened to this place in ages past, it had left permanent marks on the spiritual landscape.

The shrine appeared suddenly around a bend in the path—a circular structure of white stone that seemed to glow with its own inner light.

Seven pillars surrounded a central platform, each carved with symbols that predated modern cultivation techniques. In the center of the platform stood a basin filled with water that reflected the stars despite the overcast sky.

And beside the basin waited the stranger from the tavern, though he seemed different here—more substantial somehow, as if the shrine's power was amplifying his presence.

"You came," Ethan said, his voice carrying clearly across the sacred space.

"I came," Lysander agreed, stepping onto the platform with careful deliberation. "Though I'm still not convinced this isn't an elaborate way to rob a desperate man of his last hope."

"Hope is the most valuable thing any of us possess," Ethan replied. "I wouldn't waste yours carelessly."

He gestured toward the basin, and Lysander felt his breath catch. The water wasn't just reflecting starlight—it was generating its own luminescence, swirling with patterns that hurt to look at directly.

"What is that?" Lysander whispered.

"Distilled moonfall essence," Ethan said casually, as if he were discussing the weather. "It takes about three years to properly condense from the ambient spiritual energy here. Most people don't have the patience."

Lysander's eyes widened. Moonfall essence was legendary—a substance that existed more in cultivation folklore than reality. Even if it could be produced, the process would require knowledge of spiritual mechanics that had been lost for centuries.

"How do you—"

"Knowledge has many sources," Ethan said, moving to stand beside one of the carved pillars. "Some comes from books, some from teachers, some from... other means. What matters is whether it can be applied effectively."

He placed his palm against the pillar, and immediately the shrine's entire atmosphere changed. The seven pillars began to resonate with harmonious tones, their carved symbols glowing with increasing intensity.

The spiritual energy that had felt merely potent before now became overwhelming—a tide of power that made Lysander's damaged core sing with recognition.

"Impossible," Lysander breathed. "Those formations are ancient. No one alive knows how to activate—"

"No one you know of," Ethan corrected, his eyes reflecting the shrine's growing radiance. "Your family's knowledge has limits. Mine does not."

The demonstration was brief but utterly convincing. For just a moment, Ethan allowed his true spiritual pressure to manifest—not the careful control he'd shown in the tavern, but a glimpse of power that made Lysander's knees buckle. It was like standing in the path of an avalanche, facing a force of nature that could reshape mountains with casual effort.

Then the pressure vanished, leaving only the warm glow of the activated shrine and Ethan's pleasant smile.

"High Ascendant rank?" Lysander gasped, struggling to process what he'd felt. This did not feel like the power a high ascendant rank should hold.

"Among other things," Ethan said mildly. "Are you ready to begin?"

Lysander looked around the transformed shrine, at the impossible essence swirling in the basin, at the young man who wielded power that defied every assumption he'd held about cultivation limits. Every rational thought screamed that this was madness, that he was about to trust his life to someone whose capabilities bordered on the supernatural.

But rationality had abandoned him years ago, the night Marcus had shattered his future with surgical precision. All he had left was hope and rage, and both pointed in the same direction.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"Remove your robe and sit beside the basin," Ethan instructed. "What I'm about to attempt has never been done exactly this way before. The theory is sound, but the execution will require... innovation."

Lysander did as instructed, settling into a meditation pose next to the glowing water. The moonfall essence pulsed with rhythm that matched his heartbeat, as if it were somehow attuned to his spiritual signature.

"Traditional core healing focuses on repairing damage," Ethan explained, moving behind him. "But your situation is unique. The trauma didn't just break your original pathways—it forced your spiritual energy to find new routes. What we're going to do is stabilize those new pathways while simultaneously unlocking the potential they've been building."

"How?"

"By using your own spiritual history as a template." Ethan placed his hands on Lysander's shoulders, and immediately warmth began flowing into his damaged core.

"Every cultivator's spiritual energy retains memory of its original configuration. Most healing techniques ignore this, trying to impose external structure. We're going to let your core remember what it was supposed to become."

The process began gently—warm energy flowing through Lysander's meridian channels, mapping the extent of his spiritual damage with surgical precision. But as Ethan's power penetrated deeper, the sensations became more intense.

Pain flared as blocked pathways were forced open. Phantom sensations blazed through channels that had been dormant for years. Most overwhelming of all was the gradual awakening of potential that had been sleeping in the deepest parts of his core.

"I can feel it," Lysander gasped, his body trembling as spiritual energy began flowing in patterns he'd forgotten were possible. "The power is still there."

"More than you remember," Ethan said, his voice strangely distant as he concentrated on the delicate work. "The trauma created backup pathways that normal cultivation never develops. When we fully unlock them..."

The moonfall essence in the basin began to glow brighter, responding to the spiritual activity around it. Ethan guided streams of the liquified energy into Lysander's core, using it to reinforce the newly opened channels while simultaneously awakening dormant potential.

The restoration reached its crescendo as the shrine's ancient formations channeled raw spiritual power through both of them. Lysander felt his core restructuring itself at the deepest level—not just healing, but evolving into something fundamentally stronger than it had ever been before.

When the last pathway clicked into place, the sensation was like sunrise after years of darkness. Power flooded through his system in torrents, his cultivation level surging upward as five years of suppressed advancement happened in explosive succession.

Peak Ascendant became early Guardianship became middle Guardianship became late Guardianship, the spiritual pressure building to impossible levels. But the surge didn't stop there—the unique pathways created by his trauma suddenly unlocked their full potential, catapulting him beyond the Guardianship rank entirely.

Low Supreme rank. The very air around him began to warp as his spiritual pressure reached levels that could manipulate natural phenomena. The shrine's pillars cracked under the strain of containing such overwhelming power.

"Breathe," Ethan advised, his own power working frantically to stabilize the massive surge. "Let it settle naturally, or you'll level half the mountain."

Lysander opened eyes that now blazed with the inner fire of someone who could command the forces of nature itself. His core hummed with Supreme-level energy that made his former peak Ascendant strength seem like a candle compared to the sun.

"How do you feel?" Ethan asked, stepping back to observe his work.

Lysander rose fluidly to his feet, marveling at the ease of movement that came with properly circulating spiritual energy. "Like I could tear down mountains," he said honestly. "Like I could make them all pay for what they did."

"Good," Ethan smiled, and for the first time it held genuine warmth. "Because that's exactly what we're going to do."

As the shrine's glow faded back to normal levels, Lysander knelt before his benefactor—not in submission, but in recognition of debt that could never be fully repaid.

"I am yours to command," he said formally. "Whatever you need, wherever you point me, my power serves your will."

"Your loyalty is appreciated," Ethan said, reaching into his robes to withdraw what appeared to be a simple silver collar, though it pulsed with subtle spiritual energy. "But in matters this important, I prefer certainty over promises."

Lysander's eyes narrowed as he examined the artifact. "A binding collar? I thought we had established trust."

"We have," Ethan agreed calmly. "But trust and insurance are different things. This is an Absolute Collar—it will ensure your loyalty while protecting both of us from future... misunderstandings."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you walk away with your restored power and we part as strangers," Ethan said simply. "But if you truly want revenge against those who betrayed you, this is the price of my continued support."

After a long moment, Lysander bowed his head. "Do it."

Ethan placed the collar around Lysander's neck. The moment it touched his skin, the silver band dissolved completely, becoming invisible and intangible while bonding with his spiritual essence.

"I can't feel it," Lysander said, touching his throat in surprise.

"That's the point. It exists now as part of your spiritual signature—undetectable but absolute. Your loyalty to me is now as natural as breathing."

Ethan nodded, already planning the moves that would reshape the Drake family's carefully ordered world. Phase one of his secret organization was complete.

Now the real game could begin.