The platform buzzed with voices, steam, and the unmistakable smell of burnt sausage rolls. Luke TianLong Heaven-Smith stood tall, his back straight, arms folded, expression solemn—like a war general preparing to conquer a world of inferior sects. Beside him, Elizabeth Smith clutched a brown paper bag filled with gingersnap cookies.
"Did you bring the ones with cinnamon dust? The ones that enhance spiritual clarity?" Luke asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Of course," Elizabeth replied, holding the bag like a sacred relic. "Three rows, no raisins. I wouldn't let my only son face wizarding society without his favorite snacks."
Luke nodded solemnly. The Dao of the Biscuit was not to be underestimated.
As they stood near the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express, both mother and son were struck speechless.
"There's… so many people," Elizabeth whispered, pulling her scarf tighter.
"Naturally," Luke said. "This sect holds significant influence. Clearly, these are outer disciples waiting to be sorted into proper spiritual paths."
Students bustled past them, pushing trolleys, chasing pets, waving goodbyes. And still, heads turned—people whispering, throwing curious glances.
It wasn't Luke's modified robes or the jade-green marble hanging from his belt. It was his way of speaking.
"Behold, Mother, this steam-driven beast shall ferry us to the sacred grounds where destiny awaits."
As a note, his modified robe was black, lengthening to the ground, with full sleeves that completely covered his arms when he walked. The hem of the fabric displayed delicate silver embroidery from the neck to the hem. A dark cloth belt cinched his waist, holding small leather pouches and a pair of jade amulets that clinked softly as he moved. He wore black boots, light and silent, that fit snugly on his feet. His hair was long and straight, falling down his back, and part of it was gathered in a high bun, secured with an ornate rod of polished wood and metal details. His hands, almost always hidden in his sleeves, barely peeked out, while his gaze remained alert and serene.
Elizabeth elbowed him gently. "You sound like a child who read a thesaurus upside down."
But Luke only chuckled, he had already noticed the whispers.
"Is he a noble?"
"Must be. Look how he stands. Like he's about to order someone to duel for his honor."
Luke heard it all. His spiritual senses, trained from years of meditation, were sharp.
He gave himself a modest mental pat on the back. "Objective one: cultivate a misunderstood noble aura. Success."
The Wand
Luke's supplies were already packed neatly in his trunk. His school list had been acquired a week ago with no drama and no explosions.
Professor McGonagall herself had guided them through Diagon Alley.
His wand had chosen him immediately. Holly wood, 11 inches, core: dragon heartstring.
The wandmaker, Mr. Ollivander, had raised both eyebrows.
"A rare combination. Holly, rare wood, associated with protection and with affinity for people who must overcome a dangerous path or with internal conflicts, it seeks a master who is engaged in a dangerous and spiritual journey. And dragon heartstring... well, that's the most powerful of the cores, but also the most temperamental. A curious match."
Luke's eyes had gleamed.
"A weapon worthy of a Young Master," he whispered.
Later that night, Luke sat with his wand in the dark, channeling energy. He'd expected struggle. Internal resistance. Fireworks. Instead…
The energy flowed. smooth, natural, like warm tea down the throat. No bottlenecks, no backlash. As if the wand was merely confirming what he already was.
"So, this is how magic is meant to work… No wonder cultivators rely on it. But still, I shall pursue the path of self-mastery. External tools dull the edge of true Dao. OF course, if I learn how to make it a part of me and nurture it with my spiritual energy, I can transform it from a mere assistant to a true weapon."
Elizabeth had poked her head in during that moment.
"Are you talking to your stick again?"
"It's not a stick, Mother. "
"Right. Well, destiny needs to go to bed before the train leaves at dawn."
Meanwhile, In a Certain Office
In the upper spire of Hogwarts Castle, Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, hands folded beneath his chin. The silver instruments around him ticked, tocked, puffed, and blinked. Fawkes gave a melodramatic sigh.
Minerva's report sat on his desk: "Boy shows rare aptitude. Speech… unusual. Mental clarity: unnervingly sharp."
Dumbledore had gone himself to speak to the boy.
He had not expected to be greeted as "Revered Sect Master of Hogwarts".
Nor had he expected Luke's insistence that he should be addressed as "Honored Young Master".
And yet, he had smiled, played along, and sipped the tea Elizabeth had made.
During their conversation, Dumbledore had tried—gently, discreetly—to cast a shallow legilimency probe, just to confirm the boy was being honest.
What he found startled him.
There was resistance. Not the polished wall of a trained Occlumens, but a swirling mist of reinforced mental discipline. The boy's thoughts flowed in closed channels, like a mind that had spent hours building mazes just for fun.
Dumbledore withdrew, surprised.
"He doesn't know he's doing it… but it's working."
And Luke, ever vigilant, smiled faintly.
He knew.
No cultivator worth his tea leaves ignored the threat of mind invasion. That's why Luke had spent long hours meditating, not just to unlock energy, but to keep it safe. In doing so, he'd stumbled upon a rudimentary form of Occlumency. Accidentally.
"I see you've noticed my mental protections," Luke said aloud with a polite nod. "They're not perfect, of course. But this Young Master must not leave his spiritual gates unguarded."
Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling.
"You're… something quite unique, Mr. Smith."
Then came the moment of truth.
"I will only attend Hogwarts," Luke had declared, "if my mother comes with me."
Dumbledore paused.
There are rules, young master. Young wizards needed specific environments. Parents—especially non-magical ones—are totally forbidden by the ministry.
But… Luke had demonstrated more control than most seventh-graders.
And if he said no, the boy would counter every point with that ironclad logic that could make even some ministry officials cry.
"Luke," Dumbledore had said, trying to offer reason, "students usually grow more when they learn to stand alone."
"But why should the pursuit of the Dao require the abandonment of one's parents?" Luke countered. "The path of cultivation is long, treacherous, and full of unwashed roommates. I would rather face dragons than dining halls without her tea."
Dumbledore sighed.
There was no arguing with that.
Luke then reached into his bag and retrieved a thick stack of parchment—just a cuple of pages, neatly written.
"Please review my thesis," he said.
Dumbledore opened the packet. His hands trembled.
He was graphs and theories. The content was not too in-depth, but it was clear, and the final conclusion made him almost stand.
Dumbledore was speechless.
Now, back in his office, he opened the thesis again, rereading key paragraphs.
He exhaled slowly, walked to his cabinet, and with a flick of his wand, locked the parchment inside with seven enchantments.
"That boy…" he murmured. "I must admit, even I am afraid."
The title: "On the Stagnation of Magical Energy in the Modern World: A Cultivator's Perspective."
The mother boards the train
Back at Platform 9¾, the final whistle blew.
Elizabeth stepped confidently toward the train, bags in hand. Murmurs erupted.
"A muggle? Boarding?"
"Is she allowed?"
A few magical officials tried to intervene, approaching with their regulation robes and rulebooks.
"Excuse me, madam, but non-magical guardians must—"
Luke stepped forward.
He radiated authority, arms behind his back, gaze sharp.
"She is under this Young Master's protection. By what delusion do you find the courage to rise against she who bore me, my celestial progenitress?"
The officials hesitated, afraid they would offend someone they could not afford to. The crowd watched in silence.
One of the officials nodded awkwardly. "Ah… yes. Of course. Right this way."
Luke and Elizabeth boarded the train. Behind them, whispers flared.
"He must be from a noble bloodline…"
"Probably a half-blood from an ancient family that married a muggle."
Luke, overhearing every word, allowed himself one more mental back-pat. "Objective two: sow noble mystique. Success."
------------------
Inside the train, the compartments bustled with students and luggage and creatures of questionable hygiene. Luke and Elizabeth found a cozy one near the end of the carriage, and settled in. Luke crossed his arms and gazed out the window, as if contemplating the weather.
Moments later, the door slid open. A bushy-haired girl peeked in.
"Do you mind if we sit here? Every other spot is full."
Behind her stood a round-faced boy clutching a battered toad like it might leap to freedom at any moment.
Luke nodded once, eyes closed.
"This Young Master permits it."
The girl blinked.
"Sorry… what?"
Elizabeth intervened. "He means yes, come in, make yourselves comfortable."
"Thank you," the girl smiled, then squinted at Luke. "You talk… oddly."
Luke gave a gentle smirk. "All Young Masters must speak with dignity befitting their spiritual station."
Neville sat down slowly, eyeing Luke's belt ornament. "Is that a… is that jade?"
"It is a condensed spiritual core, harvested during the full moon after."
"...Right."
"I bought it at the market; it cost an arm and a leg, but he said it was important."
Luke reached into the brown paper bag and took out some cookies.
"Have one," he said. "Gingersnap. Infused with spirit energy."
Hermione hesitated, then took a bite.
"...This is actually amazing."
"Indeed. One must cultivate not only the body and mind, but the taste."
Neville looked at Elizabeth, then at Luke. "So… is that really your mum?"
"She is my Guardian Matriarch and Supreme Protector. I would not embark upon the cultivation path without her."
"But…" Hermione leaned forward. "That's not allowed, is it?"
Luke nodded calmly. "And yet, here she is. This Young Master does not follow rules. Rules follow this Young Master."
Hermione's mouth opened slightly in shock.
"But… how did you convince the headmaster?"
Luke took a slow bite of his cookie.
"I presented him with logic, sincerity, and documents that nearly made his soul leave his body."
Neville gasped. Hermione frowned.
"I don't know if that's allowed, though..."
"Then perhaps," Luke replied, "you are not ready to walk the path of true Dao."
Elizabeth sipped tea in the corner, smiling at the growing circle of her son's friends.
Of Toads and Titles
A sudden thump interrupted the moment—Neville's toad had slipped from his lap and was making a break for it.
"Trevor! No!"
Luke raised one hand. With a flick of his fingers and a gentle hum, the toad lifted into the air, spinning slowly like a lazy cloud.
Neville gasped. "Wow! You didn't even use your wand!"
"Spiritual manipulation. A technique I've refined during tea-making sessions."
Trevor floated gently back into Neville's hands.
"Thank you," Neville said, eyes shining. "That was awesome."
"No need to thank me. From this day forward, you are Lackey Number One."
"...What?"
"Every Young Master needs followers—faithful brothers to carry lunch, deliver notes, and look mildly menacing in dramatic moments. You will be such a brother."
Neville looked uncertain. "Uh… okay?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That sounds very hierarchical."
Luke nodded. "Correct. That's the point."
He tilted his head, studying her.
"You, for instance, have sharp wit and potential. Your hair, while chaotic, holds the promise of elegance. If you refined your appearance, your beauty would rival many palace ladies of the Southern Courts."
Hermione blushed violently.
"W-what are you saying?"
"I am offering you a position of honor. Become one of my future concubines. Not immediately, of course. Perhaps after a few years of proper bonding—"
Smack!
Elizabeth slapped the back of Luke's head without looking up from her book.
"Ow!"
"Apologize."
Luke rubbed his head, pouting slightly. "Fine."
He turned to Hermione and bowed slightly.
"I apologize. My sincerity runs faster than my mouth. It is a known flaw."
Hermione, still flustered, muttered, "Apology accepted... I guess(?)"
Neville blinked at the exchange.
"Is this normal where you're from?"
Luke folded his arms again. "I was born in Britain, but recently trained in Peru."
Hermione perked up. "Peru? That's unusual."
Luke sighed dramatically.
"The culinary Dao of Peru is beyond comprehension. Since then, British food has tasted like punishment."
Neville blinked. "Wait, so you're... a foreign noble?"
Luke smiled.
"If that's what brings peace to your worldview, yes."
Elizabeth laughed softly. "Don't try to understand him. Just roll with it."
------------
As the train sped through the countryside, Luke leaned his head against the window, arms crossed.
The sect lay ahead with all sorts of challenges. But most importantly, this Young Master had arrived.
--------------------------
Give me powerstones, or I won't be able to advance in my cultivation!