Charlie floated in the warmth of his mother's body, cradled by the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. It should have been calming, but his thoughts churned, pulling him back to the past, to his father, and to the events that had shaped their lives.
His father had once been different.
Before the coup. Before the executions. Before the world changed. Back then, his father had been a man of rules, of law, of belief in something greater. He had been fair, kind even. A man who wanted to build a world where strength wasn't the only measure of authority.
But this wasn't that world.
In the cultivation world, there were no courts, no laws, no higher powers to appeal to. Authority was determined by the strength of your fist, your ability to wield power, to crush your enemies before they crushed you. The jungle of this world demanded brutality, and those who hesitated were swallowed whole.
His father had tried to adapt, to carve out a place of order in a world ruled by chaos. Charlie could see that clearly now, though he'd been too young to understand it then. He could still picture his father standing on the platform, blade in hand, sentencing Jebadiah and the council to death.
The executions had been swift, efficient, unflinching. His father had done what needed to be done. And yet, even in the aftermath, there had been mercy.
The families of the condemned were spared.
"Submit or leave," his father had told them. And they had submitted, at least outwardly. But Charlie now understood that mercy was a crack in the foundation, a kindness that left behind roots capable of twisting and choking the settlement from within.
At the time, Charlie had only seen glimpses of the world's brutality. The death of his mother, the coup, the quiet tension that followed—these were pieces of a larger puzzle he wouldn't begin to put together until much later. His father had tried to shield him from it, but there was only so much protection a child could have in a world like theirs.
The cultivation world wasn't like the old world. It was harsh, unforgiving, and raw. The strength to defend yourself wasn't optional—it was survival. Charlie's father had learned that, though the lesson had cost him pieces of himself along the way.
But it was Charlie who had paid the real price.
His father's mercy for the families had been a mistake. That decision to spare the roots of dissent had set the course for everything that came after. It was the first crack in the illusion of safety, the moment the jungle began to bleed through the walls of the settlement.
Charlie grinned inwardly, though there was no humor in it. The boy he'd been then could never have understood what was coming. The pain, the suffering, the relentless trials that would shape him into something new.
The jungle didn't care about rules or mercy. It only cared about strength.
The cultivation world had stripped Charlie down to nothing, broken him, and rebuilt him in its image. He hadn't been spared, but he hadn't been defeated either.
Red Brother Saber wasn't born of fairness or kindness. He had been forged in fire, sharpened by the unforgiving laws of a world that demanded strength above all else.
Floating in the quiet, Charlie let the memories drift. He didn't hate his father for his choices. If anything, he understood them better now than he ever had before. But understanding didn't make the world any less brutal.
In the jungle, there was no mercy.
There was only inevitability.