23. Cultivation Stages [Modern Warship in a Cultivation World]

The first thing Pax registered was the deep, resonant hum of the ship's engines, a sound so constant it was the heartbeat of the Event Horizon. The second was the warm weight of Imogen against his side, her breathing even and deep. The frantic, desperate energy of the night had been spent, leaving behind a quiet, exhausted calm.

Sunlight, filtered by the thick porthole glass but holding a faint, persistent crimson hue from the alien moons fading, cut a sharp line across the floor. It was morning. It was time.

He shifted, and Imogen stirred instantly. A lifetime of military discipline overrode the depths of sleep. Her eyes opened, clear and focused, immediately meeting his. There was no lingering softness, no sleepy confusion, just a silent, mutual acknowledgment of what had transpired. Without a word, she sat up, swinging her legs out of bed.

They dressed in the quiet, efficient manner of people with a grim duty to perform. Pax pulled on his rumpled shirt and trousers from the day before, while Imogen stepped into her crisp uniform, each piece a layer of armor reassembling the Captain.

As she fastened the last button on her jacket, Pax leaned against the wall, watching her. “So,” he began, his voice still rough with sleep. “What's the official status report, Captain? Do I list this under ‘fraternization’ or ‘disastrous relapse’?”

Imogen turned, her expression unreadable for a moment as she tucked her hair into a severe bun. Then she paused, meeting his gaze in the reflection of her small mirror. She let out a short, controlled sigh, one that clearly carried the weight of a thousand complications.

“Yes, Pax,” she stated, her voice flat and utterly final. “We are together again. Now, let’s go hold an important meeting.”

She turned from the mirror, her posture once again rigid and commanding. She didn't look at him as she walked to the door, but the simple, blunt confirmation, a new, fragile fact, hung in the air between them. Pax offered a faint, wry smile to the empty room, then followed his Captain out into the corridor, toward the morning's reckoning.

The cafeteria felt cavernous and hollow. The usual low din of conversation had been replaced by a leaden silence, broken only by the clatter of trays that seemed too loud, too jarring. Jessica pushed a piece of boiled egg around her plate, her appetite gone.

Jenkins sat across from her, not even pretending to eat, just staring into his black coffee. O’Malley finally broke the quiet, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “He sat right there,” he mumbled, nodding to an empty chair. “Last night. Arguin’ with me about Alice in Wonderland, of all the bloody things again.”

Jessica’s vision blurred. She saw it too: Carter’s earnest, slightly confused face, so eager to find a frame of reference in the chaos. “He… he thought it was like a dream,” she whispered, her voice thick. “He kept saying that maybe we’d all just wake up just like Alice.”

“He helped me,” Jessica continued, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. “When I was doing those first crew interviews, he was the one who rounded people up. Told them to talk to me. Said it was important to ‘document for the folks back home.’ He was just… kind.”

O’Malley let out a shaky breath, his usual bravado completely absent. “Aye. And now the folks back home will get a different kind of document. A casualty report.”

Jenkins finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. “For a second, I let myself believe him,” he admitted, his voice a low rumble of pain. “That this was all some mad dream. That we’d open our eyes and be back in our bunks before starting this mission. Carter would be alive, complaining about swabbing the deck in the real world… and we’d all laugh about the weird dream we all shared.”

“But for all the arguing.. He was still wrong” Jenkins replied “Alice wasn’t dreaming.. She did go to wonderland”

The three of them sat in the crushing weight of the silence that followed. The three blood-red moons disappearing with the morning sun in the sky outside the viewport were a brutal, unblinking reminder. This was no dream. This was their new, terrible reality

“I know we have a serious internal incident to discuss regarding Lieutenant Sam, but we must prioritize survival,” Imogen stated, her gaze sweeping the room. She gestured toward Officer Nolan and Lu Mingfe, who was sitting next to him. “We need to understand the fundamental logic of this world first if we are to even hope to mitigate our risks and eventually return home.”

Lu Mingfe rose with quiet dignity, acknowledging the Captain’s necessity. Officer Nolan prepared to translate for the entire command staff. “Before we discuss the world’s geographical state, before the maps or political boundaries, I believe you must understand the cultivators first, given their paramount importance here.”

The door to the meeting room opened, and Jessica slipped in, quietly taking a seat next to Pax. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her recorder was on.

Lu Mingfe continued, "Cultivators refine Qi, that energy we discussed, inside their bodies to perform extraordinary physical feats and martial techniques.”

“Their strength is fundamentally classified by their Qi Core’s capacity,” Lu Mingfe explained, “which is essentially a reservoir of energy formed within their hearts or lower abdomen.” Jessica, having worked with him the day before, immediately placed a supporting graphic on the main screen.

“Cultivators begin their journey as a First Circle Martial Artist and can theoretically cultivate up to the Seventh Circle,” Lu Mingfe explained as the chart detailing the hierarchy was displayed. “The cultivators riding the Gou Skysnakes last night, the ones who engaged your aircraft, were clearly in the range of Third Circle Martial Artists. This is, regrettably, the most common rank for experienced martial artists in our world.”

Lu Mingfe paused, letting the scope of the tiered threat sink in before he moved to the ultimate apex of power in their realm.

“Historically, very few have crossed the path of the circles to become truly Immortal and ascend the heavens,” Lu Mingfe continued. “Immortals are humans who have cultivated beyond the theoretical limit of the Seventh Circle. It is said that once someone ascends to this state, they are branded by the Heavenly Principles of Functionality, a fundamental law of reality itself which prevents them from actively interfering in the mortal realm.”

Imogen leaned forward, intrigued by this mention of absolute, metaphysical law. “What is that? What exactly is this law?”

“A Law,” Lu Mingfe repeated, emphasizing the concept. “A fixed rule of reality that brands them, preventing them from directly interfacing or asserting their will over the affairs of the Mortal realm.”

Pax immediately grasped the logical loophole. “If so, if they are barred from interfering and have ascended, how do we even know Immortals exist? Are they not just myth?”

Lu Mingfe’s expression turned grim, the simple question leading to the world's deep tragedy.

“Because the whole war, the large-scale conflict of which the battle you witnessed was merely one small part.. this Great War, was begun by one.”