I Can Create Clones

The tavern's heavy wooden door creaked as Ethan stepped inside, his clone's form casting a long shadow across the worn floorboards. The atmosphere was thick with smoke and whispered conversations, but his enhanced senses immediately locked onto his target in the far corner.

Lysander Drake sat hunched over his wine bottle like a man guarding his last treasure.

Ethan moved through the crowded space with fluid grace, his footsteps silent despite the creaking boards beneath other patrons' feet. He had carefully crafted his appearance for this encounter—well-dressed but not ostentatiously so, young but carrying an air of authority that suggested hidden depths. Most importantly, he bore no obvious family markers or cultivation sect insignia.

"This seat taken?" Ethan asked, his voice carrying just enough spiritual resonance to make Lysander's damaged core react with recognition.

Lysander looked up, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they took in this unexpected visitor. There was something about the newcomer that set his instincts on edge—not danger, exactly, but the sense of standing before something vast and carefully contained.

"Depends," Lysander replied, his voice rough from disuse and wine. "Are you here to gawk at the fallen prince, or do you actually have business with me?"

Ethan smiled, settling into the chair without waiting for explicit permission. "I prefer to think of you as potential rather than fallen. Names aren't important right now—what matters is that I represent certain... interests... that have been observing your situation."

"Interests." Lysander's laugh was bitter. "Let me guess—someone needs a peak Ascendant cultivator for dirty work they can't trust to their own people. Sorry to disappoint, but my core is damaged. I'm not the weapon I once was."

"On the contrary," Ethan said, signaling the barkeeper for two cups of the establishment's finest wine. "I'm told you're exactly what you once were—simply... constrained by circumstances beyond your control."

The casual confidence in that statement made Lysander pause. Most people who approached him either pitied his condition or underestimated his remaining capabilities. This stranger seemed to understand something that even master healers had missed.

"You speak as if you know something about spiritual damage," Lysander said carefully. "Most people see a crippled core and assume complete failure."

"Most people lack the knowledge to distinguish between damage and... restructuring." Ethan accepted the wine cups from the nervous barkeeper, who clearly sensed the spiritual pressure radiating from both men despite their attempts at concealment. "Tell me, when you meditate deeply—really push against your current limitations—what do you feel?"

Lysander's hand tightened around his wine bottle. That was a question no one had ever asked him. "How could you possibly—"

"Potential," Ethan continued, as if Lysander hadn't spoken. "Pathways that didn't exist before your 'accident.' Spiritual channels that were forced to adapt and grow in ways that normal cultivation never achieves. Your uncle's sabotage may have damaged your core, but it also created something unique."

The wine cup slipped from Lysander's numb fingers, shattering on the tavern floor. "Who are you?" he whispered.

"Someone who understands that true power isn't always visible to those who think they know everything about cultivation," Ethan replied, his eyes gleaming with hidden knowledge. "Your family sees damaged goods. I see unrealized potential that could shake the very foundations they think are so secure."

Lysander's mind reeled. This stranger knew details about his condition that he'd never shared with anyone—insights that even the most skilled healers had missed. The way he spoke about spiritual pathways and forced adaptation suggested a understanding of core mechanics that bordered on the impossible.

"Let's say you're not completely insane," Lysander said slowly. "What exactly are you proposing? Because I've heard promises before. I've been offered miracle cures and revolutionary treatments. They all ended the same way—with my gold in someone else's pocket and my core still broken."

"I'm not offering you false hope," Ethan said, leaning forward slightly.

"I'm offering you truth. Your core isn't broken—it's evolved. The trauma forced it to develop backup pathways and redundant spiritual channels that normal cultivation never creates. What you need isn't healing in the traditional sense."

"Then what?" Lysander demanded, frustration bleeding through his carefully maintained composure.

"You need someone who understands the difference between repairing damage and unlocking potential." Ethan's smile was enigmatic. "Someone who recognizes that what others see as irreparable injury is actually the foundation for power beyond anything your family has ever produced."

The tavern seemed to grow quieter around them, as if the very air was holding its breath. Lysander stared at this mysterious figure who spoke with casual authority about concepts that shouldn't exist.

"Core restructuring," he breathed. "You're talking about something that's purely theoretical. No one has ever successfully—"

"No one you know of," Ethan corrected gently. "But then again, there are many things your family doesn't know. Many techniques they never learned because they were too busy selling their inheritance to the highest bidder."

Lysander's spiritual pressure flared involuntarily at the casual mention of the corruption that had destroyed his life. "How do you know about—"

"I know many things," Ethan said, his own spiritual aura pressing back with casual strength that made Lysander's eyes widen.

"I know about Elder Marcus's creative accounting. I know about the techniques sold to fund your brother's political ambitions. I know about the 'accident' that was anything but accidental."

"Impossible," Lysander whispered. "Those details were never recorded. The only people who knew—"

"Were all complicit," Ethan finished. "Which is why they assumed their secrets were safe. But power has many faces, and information has a way of finding those who know how to look for it."

Lysander's hand moved instinctively toward the weapon at his side before he caught himself. This stranger's casual knowledge of family secrets that had cost him everything was terrifying in its implications.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the tavern's background noise.

"Partnership," Ethan said simply. "Your family cast you aside because they thought you were broken. They never considered what you might become if properly... encouraged. I'm offering you the chance to discover what lies beyond your current limitations."

"And in exchange?"

"Loyalty. Service. The satisfaction of watching those who betrayed you realize exactly how badly they miscalculated." Ethan's expression was pleasant, but something cold flickered in his eyes. "Your family thinks the game is over. They have no idea it's barely begun."

Lysander stared across the table at this enigmatic figure who promised impossible things with absolute confidence. Every instinct screamed that this was too good to be true—another false hope that would end in disappointment and betrayal.

But there was something in the stranger's voice, something in the way he spoke about core mechanics and family secrets, that suggested knowledge far beyond what any charlatan should possess.

"Core restructuring," Lysander said slowly. "Even if such a thing were possible—and I'm not saying it is—the process would be incredibly dangerous. One mistake and I'd lose what little power I have left."

"True," Ethan agreed. "But consider the alternative. You can sit in taverns like this for the rest of your life, drinking expensive wine and nursing old wounds. Or you can take a chance on something that might—just might—give you the power to make them all pay."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility and threat. Lysander could feel the weight of decision pressing down on him like a physical force.

"If you could actually do what you claim," he said finally, "what would I become? What's beyond this 'restructuring' you speak of?"

Ethan's smile was sharp as a blade. "Something your family will never see coming. Something that will make them understand that casting aside their own blood was the greatest mistake they ever made."

He stood smoothly, placing several gold coins on the table—more than enough to cover both their drinks and a generous tip for the nervous barkeeper.

"Think about it," Ethan said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "When you're ready to discover what true power feels like, seek out the old shrine on Moonfall Hill tomorrow at midnight. Come alone."

As he turned to leave, Lysander felt compelled to call out one final question. "What if this is all lies? What if you're just another person looking to exploit a desperate man's hopes?"

Ethan paused at the tavern door, looking back with eyes that seemed to hold depths Lysander couldn't fathom.

"Then you'll be exactly where you are now—broken, forgotten, and full of regret," he said quietly. "But if I'm telling the truth... your family is about to learn why power and wisdom should never be measured by the condition of one's spirit core."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Lysander alone with his wine, his doubts, and the most dangerous thing he'd felt in five years.

Hope.