My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 1088: Memories

The water was colder than I expected.

For a brief moment the pressure of the Soul Sea pressed against me from every direction. Then a thin layer of soul energy formed around me and expanded outward, effortlessly parting the surrounding currents.

The ocean opened before us. We descended.

At first there was only darkness.

Then my eyes adjusted. The depths of the Soul Sea revealed themselves.

Massive schools of silver fish moved through the water like living rivers. Strange plants swayed gently from rocky outcroppings. Enormous creatures drifted through the darkness far below, their silhouettes so large that entire buildings could have fit upon their backs.

The deeper we traveled, the more alive the sea became. I kept my perception expanded. Everything seemed capable of killing something else. Occasionally powerful soul signatures brushed against my senses before disappearing into the darkness once more.

None of them approached us because of me. Whether that was because they recognized me or simply possessed functioning survival instincts, I couldn’t say. The old man continued downward without concern.

After nearly twenty minutes of travel, the terrain beneath us finally began to change. The flat seabed gave way to rising slopes.

Then cliffs. Then mountains. I slowed slightly. An entire mountain range stretched across the ocean floor.

Gigantic peaks rising thousands of meters from the depths. Many extended so high that their summits nearly reached the surface far above.

Others remained completely submerged. Even Roland noticed my surprise.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?"

I nodded. Nothing in the real world could compare to this.

The deeper regions of the Soul Sea felt less like an ocean and more like an entirely separate world hidden beneath the water.

Roland pointed toward one of the larger peaks ahead.

"That’s our destination."

At first glance it looked no different from the surrounding mountains. Then I noticed the damage.

Several sections of the mountain had been shattered completely. Entire cliffs had collapsed. Deep scars stretched across the stone as though something enormous had clawed through the region.

Spatial fluctuations rolled through the surrounding water. As we approached, more details became visible. Formation pillars had already been erected across several ridges.

Construction arrays glowed faintly beneath protective barriers. Groups of humans moved between different sections of the mountain, transporting materials and establishing defensive positions.

The operation was already underway.

"This is the location?" I asked.

Roland nodded.

"One of the future outpost locations."

"Looks like the construction isn’t finished."

"It isn’t."

There was entirely too much satisfaction in his voice.

We eventually stopped atop a rocky ledge overlooking one of the larger valleys. Roland crouched beside a stone outcropping and gestured ahead.

"There."

I followed his gaze.

Near the center of the mountain stood multiple figures.

But my eyes found two figures immediately. Even surrounded by dozens of humans, they drew my attention immediately.

One stood atop a partially completed formation platform directing construction efforts. The other was speaking with several scouts near the entrance to a cavern system carved directly into the mountainside.

The distance should have made them difficult to identify. It didn’t. Something inside me recognized them immediately.

Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps something else entirely. Whatever the reason, my eyes found them without effort.

My breath caught.

Roland smiled beside me.

"Looks like we found them."

Neither of them had noticed us.

For the moment we remained hidden among the rocks, watching from afar while the operation continued around them and the currents of the Soul Sea flowed silently through the mountain valleys below.

I found myself unable to look away from the two distant figures moving through the construction site.

It felt strange. Not because I didn’t recognize them. Because I did. The distance didn’t matter. The years didn’t matter. The moment I saw them, I knew.

My father stood near the formation platform, speaking with a group of cultivators gathered around a partially completed portal anchor. Every so often he would point toward a section of the mountain and the others would nod before rushing off to carry out whatever instructions he had given.

My mother was somewhere else entirely.

She moved between different teams, checking progress, inspecting defensive formations, and somehow managing to look like she was supervising everything at once.

Neither of them looked much older than the memories I carried. Still, seeing them standing there after so many years felt unreal.

Like I was looking at ghosts. Or perhaps memories that had somehow learned how to breathe.

Without realizing it, I found myself smiling. My father had always been the calmer of the two. The kind of person who never seemed hurried no matter how chaotic the situation became.

One of my earliest memories involved a wooden spear. Actually, dozens of wooden spears.

I had broken most of them. At the time I had considered that an achievement.

My father hadn’t shared the opinion.

I could still remember standing in our backyard while he patiently corrected my stance for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Again."

"But I already did it."

"Incorrectly."

"It looked right."

"To whom?"

"Me."

"There’s your problem."

The memory brought a laugh to my lips.

I remembered charging forward with all the confidence only a child could possess. Then immediately tripping over my own feet.

My father hadn’t laughed. He had simply helped me back up and told me to try again.

And again.

And again.

Looking back, I wasn’t entirely sure whether he had been training my weapon skills or my persistence.

Probably both.

Beside me, Roland glanced over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The old man snorted.

"That’s the second time you’ve used that answer."

I ignored him. My attention drifted back toward the mountain.

Another memory surfaced.

This one involving my mother. Training with her had been a completely different experience. My father believed in technique. My mother believed in suffering.

There had been running. Far too much running.

Lifting stones.

Climbing hills.

Swimming.

Endless physical exercises designed to strengthen the body.

At the time I had been convinced she was secretly trying to kill me.

In hindsight, that assessment might not have been entirely inaccurate.

The worst part was that she somehow managed to smile through all of it.

"One more lap."

"You said that three laps ago."

"And now I’m saying it again."