Chapter 53: Chapter 53: Happy New Year and The Final Goodbyes

(AN:

Happy New Year, everyone 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉.

Thank you for spending another year with this story and sticking around through every Chapter, cliffhanger, and crazy plot turn, bad arrogant master writing. Your support, comments, and enthusiasm honestly mean more than you think—they’re a big reason I keep writing and pushing this world further. And also money too, hehehe.

The new year is coming with bigger arcs, higher stakes, and a lot of things I’ve been excited to write for a long time. I hope you’ll continue this journey with me and enjoy what’s ahead.

Wishing you a year filled with good health, good vibes, and plenty of great stories to read.Let’s make this one even better than the last.

Happy New Year! 🥂✨.)

Day 3 – Final Goodbyes

Morning – The Last Breakfast

The morning of Day 18—the final day—arrived with the weight of finality.

Runar woke to find his parents already awake, moving quietly through the house in the pre-dawn darkness. He could hear his mother crying softly in the kitchen, trying to muffle the sound.

He didn’t go down immediately. Instead, he sat on his bed, holding the ancient jade pendant his father had given him, feeling its mysterious warmth against his palm.

This is it. The last morning in this house. The last breakfast as a family before everything changes.

A soft knock at his door.

“Come in,” Runar said.

Celestia entered, already dressed. Her eyes were red—she’d been crying too.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Didn’t want to,” Runar admitted. “Every hour I sleep is an hour I don’t spend with them.”

She sat beside him on the bed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “My parents arrived an hour ago. They’re downstairs with yours. Everyone’s pretending to be strong and failing miserably.”

“We should go down.”

“In a minute.” She took his hand. “I just… I need a moment. Just us. Before the chaos of the day starts.”

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the first rays of Telstra’s double suns begin to light the sky through his window.

“Promise me something,” Celestia said softly.

“Anything.”

“Promise that no matter what happens at the academy—no matter how powerful we become, or how famous, or how different—we’ll remember this. Remember being just Runar and Celestia. Remember our families. Remember where we came from.”

“I promise,” Runar said. “We won’t forget. We can’t. They made us who we are.”

“Okay.” She stood, pulling him up with her. “Let’s go make the best last breakfast ever.”

Both families had indeed gathered in the Cross household kitchen—all four parents, plus Runar and Celestia. The kitchen that had felt crowded during previous mornings now felt perfectly full, like this was how it was always meant to be.

“We’re cooking everything,” Seraphina announced, tying an apron around her waist. “Every dish you’ve ever loved. Every family recipe. Everything.”

And they did.

Jake made his famous spirit beast egg omelets—the ones he’d perfected over decades, infused with just enough qi to be delicious without being overwhelming.

Lirien prepared her signature cultivation pancakes—fluffy, sweet, with honey from Supernova realm spirit bees.

Caspian grilled fire-attribute spirit meat—his military cooking skills on full display, each piece perfectly seasoned.

Seraphina made her mother’s ice-lotus soup—a family recipe passed down for generations, cooling and refreshing.

Runar and Celestia were assigned to simple tasks—setting the table, preparing drinks—but mostly, the parents wanted to cook for them. To take care of them one last time before they left.

The kitchen filled with delicious aromas and warm conversation. Stories flowed freely:

“Remember when Runar first tried to cook?” Lirien laughed. “He was physically seven years old—and tried to make breakfast for us. Nearly burned down the kitchen.”

“I was trying to help!” Runar protested.

“You set the spirit beast bacon on fire,” Jake reminded him. “It achieved sentience and tried to escape.”

“That was not my fault. The bacon was defective.”

Everyone laughed.

“And Celestia,” Caspian said, grinning at his daughter. “Remember when you tried to catch spirit fish from the pond with your bare hands?”

“I was four years old!” Celestia protested. “And I almost got one!”

“You fell in the pond,” Seraphina corrected. “Your father had to fish you out. You came up covered in algae and declaring you’d ’battled the water spirits and lost honorably.’”

More laughter.

The stories continued, weaving a tapestry of memories—some real, some compressed into two weeks of accelerated time, but all treasured.

They ate together at the large dining table, every seat filled, every dish passed with care. It wasn’t fancy or formal—just family, sharing a meal, knowing it was the last for a long while.

“Before we finish,” Jake said, standing with a glass of spirit wine, “I want to say something.”

Everyone turned to listen.

“Runar, Celestia,” Jake began, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “You’ve both grown so much, so fast. We missed years of your lives that passed in days. We missed graduations, first loves, teenage rebellions—all compressed or skipped entirely.”

He paused, collecting himself.

“But what we got instead was concentrated time. Every breakfast, every dinner, every moment together was treasured because we knew time was short. Some parents take decades with their children for granted. We didn’t have that luxury. So every moment mattered.”

Lirien stood beside him, taking his hand.

“What your father is trying to say,” she continued, “is that we’re grateful. Grateful for these two weeks. Grateful for who you’ve become. Grateful that you’re facing the universe together, not alone.”

“We’re proud,” Caspian added, standing as well. “So incredibly proud. You’re going to do amazing things. We know it. Everyone knows it.”

“Just promise us,” Seraphina said, her voice breaking, “promise you’ll come home. Not just visit during breaks—really come home. In your hearts. Don’t let fame or power change who you fundamentally are.”

Runar and Celestia stood together.

“We promise,” they said in unison.

The parents moved around the table, pulling them into a massive group hug—all six of them tangled together, crying and laughing simultaneously.

“Alright,” Jake said eventually, pulling back and wiping his eyes. “Enough crying. We have a few hours left. Let’s not waste them on tears.”

Late Morning – Unexpected Visitors

Around 10 AM, the doorbell began ringing.

First to arrive was Vice-Principal Farquad, A Planetary Core cultivator, from the Continental Academy.

“Vice-Principal Farquad” Runar greeted respectfully. “Welcome.” He recognized him from when he was researching about the academy. He lead him inside.

“Runar, Celestia,” the Vice-Principal said warmly. “I heard today was the day. I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye properly.”

He pulled out several wrapped packages from his spatial storage.

“Gifts from the Continental Academy,” he explained. “Even though you won’t be attending with us, the academy council wanted you to have these. Technique scrolls, cultivation resources, a letter of recommendation should you ever need to transfer…”

He trailed off, knowing how absurd that last part sounded. Prime Origin students didn’t transfer to Continental Academy.

“We appreciate it,” Celestia said graciously, accepting the packages. “Please thank the council for thinking of us.”

“They’re all very proud,” Elder Thorne said. “You’re the first from Telstra to receive Prime Origin invitations in Seventy years. And there are two of you at once You’re putting our planet on the map.”

Before they could respond, more visitors arrived.

Vice-Governor Helena Stormcrest (Supernova Stage 6) – representing the city government: “On behalf of Velsinor City, we wanted to present you with these commemorative medallions. Honorary citizenship, which grants you certain privileges should you return…”

Before they could respond, more visitors arrived.

Master Cloudwhisper (Planetary Core Stage 4) – famous formation master: “I studied your family’s jade pendant, young master Runar. Couldn’t crack it, but I wanted to give you my notes. Perhaps you’ll have better luck…”

Madame Silvermoon (Satellite Orbit Stage 7) – wealthy merchant: “My trading company would be honored to sponsor your future endeavors. Please, take my card…”

General Ironheart (Solar Flare Stage 2) – military liaison: “The Federation military is always interested in talented cultivators. When you graduate, we hope you’ll consider…”

And more. And more.

By 11 AM, the Cross household was filled with visitors—all wanting to be associated with the future Prime Origin graduates, all offering gifts and connections and opportunities.

Some were genuine wellwishers. Others were clearly networking. A few were desperately trying to establish connections before Runar and Celestia became too famous to approach.

Runar and Celestia handled it with grace, accepting gifts politely, making no commitments, treating everyone with respect regardless of motivation.

Caspian and Jake managed the crowd flow, ensuring no one overstayed their welcome.

Finally, around 11:30 AM, the last visitor departed.

“That was exhausting,” Celestia said, collapsing onto the couch.

“At least they meant well,” Runar said. “Mostly.”

“Half an hour until the ship arrives,” Jake noted, checking his terminal. “We should head to the designated landing zone.”

Gaia had specified coordinates—a large open plaza in the city border, cleared for the cosmic transport’s arrival.

“Let’s go,” Lirien said. “I want to see this ship that’s going to take my baby away.”

They gathered their belongings—everything packed into the Primordial-grade dimensional storage bags the academy had provided. Between those bags and their personal spatial storage, they carried the accumulated treasures of two weeks: gifts from family, purchases from shopping, resources enough to supply a big sect.

The two families boarded Caspian’s ship and flew toward the city center.

The Journey to Landing Plaza

Velsinor City was packed.

Word had spread that the Prime Origin transport ship would be arriving at noon. Thousands of citizens had gathered—cultivators and mortals alike, all wanting to witness history.

The Cross and Stormwind families’ ship received priority clearance, landing in a reserved section near the designated coordinates.

They disembarked to find a massive crowd held back by barriers—city security and military personnel maintaining order.

A VIP section had been prepared with comfortable seating, refreshments, and a clear view of the landing zone.

“Tier 8 families,” announced the security captain, a Meteor Forging cultivator who saluted respectfully. “Please, this way. You have reserved viewing.”

As they walked through the crowd toward the VIP section, people called out:

“Runar! Celestia! Good luck!”

“Make Telstra proud!”

“We’re rooting for you!”

“Bring honor to humanity!”

Runar and Celestia waved, acknowledging the support.

They settled into the VIP section alongside other high-ranking officials—the planetary governor, military commanders, wealthy merchants, all the important people of Velstra who wanted to witness this moment.

“Five minutes,” Jake said, checking his terminal. His hand was shaking slightly.

Lirien held Runar’s hand tightly, as if afraid he might vanish early.

Seraphina had her arm around Celestia, whispering last-minute motherly advice: “Eat properly. Sleep enough. Don’t overtrain. Call us. Please call us…”

Caspian stood with his hand on Runar’s shoulder, silent but present.

The crowd grew quiet as noon approached.

Everyone staring at the sky.

Waiting.

At exactly 12:00 PM, the sky darkened.

Not gradually—instantly. As if someone had switched off Telstra’s double suns.

“What—” someone in the crowd began.

Then they saw it.

A massive spatial distortion appeared directly above the landing plaza. Reality itself seemed to crack, fragments of space-time peeling away like broken glass.

Through the widening rift, something emerged.

First, just a glimpse—a flash of impossible metallic hull, covered in runic arrays that glowed with Primordial-grade power.

Then more.

And more.

And MORE.

The ship kept coming.

It was enormous. Not planet-sized, but approaching it. The vessel dwarfed the city below, its shadow falling across Velsinor like a second nightfall.

The Absolute Infinity.

The cosmic transport ship sent to collect Prime Origin Academy candidates.

“By the Supremes,” breathed the planetary governor, staring upward in awe.

The ship was a masterwork of cultivation technology and engineering. Its hull was forged from materials that shouldn’t exist—metals from neutron star cores, crystallized void energy, formations woven by Rule-level comprehension.

Thousands of runic arrays covered every surface, each one more complex than entire formation systems on Telstra. Spatial distortions rippled around the vessel as its mere presence warped local reality.

Energy readings from the ship made scanning equipment overload and fail. The spiritual pressure alone—even heavily suppressed—made weaker cultivators in the crowd gasp for breath.

“That ship,” Caspian said faintly, his Star Fusion cultivation barely able to perceive its full scale, “could destroy entire solar systems as a side effect of moving at full speed.”

“It’s beautiful,” Celestia whispered.

And it was. Terrifying, overwhelming, impossible—but beautiful.

The ship’s underside opened, and a smaller vessel descended—though “smaller” was relative. The shuttle alone was the size of a large building.

It touched down in the plaza with perfect precision, its landing gear leaving impressions in the reinforced ground.

A ramp extended.

Two figures emerged.

The first was a woman—tall, severe-looking, with Neutron Star realm cultivation that made the air shimmer around her. She wore a uniform marked with the Prime Origin Academy seal.

“I am Vice-Captain Meridian,” her voice carried across the plaza through formation-enhanced projection. “Representing the Absolute Infinity and Prime Origin Academy. Candidates Runar Cross and Celestia Stormwind, please approach.”

The second figure was a young man—Supernova realm, early stage, wearing a soldier’s uniform. He stood at attention, professional and alert.

Runar and Celestia stood.

This was it.

The moment of departure.

Jake pulled Runar into one more hug. “Remember who you are. Remember where you came from. And come home safe.”

“I will, Dad. I promise.”

Lirien was crying again, but smiling through the tears. “You’re going to be amazing. We love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

Seraphina held Celestia tightly. “My baby girl. My beautiful, strong, impossible daughter. Make the universe tremble.”

“I’ll do my best, Mama.”

Caspian gripped Celestia’s shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “You’re ready for this. Everything you’ve trained for, everything you’ve become—it’s all been leading here. Now go show them what a Stormwind can do.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Final hugs. Final kisses on foreheads. Final whispered I-love-yous.

Then Runar and Celestia walked hand-in-hand toward the shuttle.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

“TELSTRA! TELSTRA! TELSTRA!”

The chant echoed across the city, thousands of voices united in support.

Runar and Celestia paused at the base of the ramp, turning back one last time.

They saw their families—parents crying but smiling, waving, so proud despite the heartbreak.

They saw the crowd—fellow citizens of Telstra, celebrating their success.

They saw their home world—the planet where they’d been born, where they’d grown, where they’d become who they were.

Runar and Celestia waved one last time.

Then they turned and walked up the ramp together, disappearing into the shuttle.

The ramp retracted. The shuttle sealed.

And with a pulse of spatial energy, the shuttle rose silently into the air, ascending toward the massive ship waiting above.

On the ground, parents watched through tears as their children were taken to the stars.

“They’ll be fine,” Jake said, voice rough with emotion. “They’re strong. They’re smart. They’re together.”

“I know,” Lirien whispered. “But they’re still my baby.”

“And they always will be.”

The shuttle docked with the Absolute Infinity. The massive ship’s spatial rift began closing, reality healing itself as the vessel prepared to depart.

One final pulse of energy.

Then the ship was gone—not slowly fading into the distance, but simply ceasing to exist in this location, having stepped sideways through space-time to begin its journey.

The sky returned to normal. The double suns shone again.

But everything had changed.

Two children from Telstra—born just weeks ago in one case, five years in another—were gone, heading toward the most prestigious academy in human civilization.

The crowd slowly dispersed, talking excitedly about what they’d witnessed.

The families remained, staring at the empty sky.

“Come on,” Caspian said eventually. “Let’s go home. We’ll hear from them soon. They promised.”

They walked back to the ship, leaving the plaza behind.

On board the Absolute Infinity, somewhere in the space between spaces, Runar and Celestia stood together in their assigned quarters, looking at each other with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

“We actually did it,” Celestia said. “We’re really going.”

“We really are,” Runar agreed.

“Are you ready?”

Runar took her hand, squeezing gently.

“As long as we’re together, I’m ready for anything.”

“Together,” Celestia echoed.

“Always.”

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