A peaceful dinner.

The storyteller abruptly dropped the food he was eating, his Dongpo pork falling into the bowl and sauces splashing everywhere. 

He slowly turned to Epiphany, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Always the cruel one, weren't you?" he said, wiping his mouth and trying to clean the small mess he had made.

"Does the kid agree?"

Epiphany's expression softened slightly as he reached over to help the storyteller clean up. "He doesn't know yet. I've only told him that his bloodline is strong."

The storyteller raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in his gaze. He picked up a soy sauce container, drizzling some onto his rice absentmindedly. "It wasn't like you to go for bloodlines," he remarked.

"You were the biggest advocate for hard work."

Epiphany's eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. He took a sip of his plum wine, savoring the sweet and tangy flavor. "Times change," he replied simply. "But his bloodline piqued my curiosity."

The storyteller's curiosity was indeed piqued. He set his chopsticks down, folding his hands thoughtfully. "What kind of bloodline does the boy have?"

Epiphany turned to the storyteller, staring at him for a long moment, the silence stretching until it became almost unbearable. The storyteller's cheeks flushed as he stammered, "I... I don't swing that way!"

Epiphany laughed heartily, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent boat. 

The gentle lapping of water against the hull seemed to synchronize with his laughter. "Aren't you the greatest seer? The one who brought about the downfall of the Heavenly Chens? Just ruminate on what kind of bloodline the boy could have."

The storyteller seemed lost in thought, his expression turning wistful. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, the scent of the sea air mixing with the spices from their meal.

"I'm not the same Goldeneye I once was," he murmured. 

"Regardless of how strong I was at my peak, aren't I dead and stuck under you now? I can't even gather enough courage to finally take the leap and move forward."

Epiphany's eyes softened with understanding, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he waited as the storyteller pondered his words, his brow furrowing in concentration. "A bloodline powerful enough to revive the sect, you say..." 

The storyteller's voice trailed off as he considered the possibilities. "Could it be the lineage of the Reincarnated Sages? Or perhaps the line of the Eternal Phoenix, those who rise from their ashes with each death? Or maybe even the Descendants of the Timeweavers, those who can manipulate the threads of fate?"

Epiphany shook his head after each guess, a faint smile playing on his lips. Finally, he leaned in and said quietly, "The boy has the blood of a Musok running through him."

The storyteller seemed taken aback. He took a long sip of his hot tea, letting the warmth steady his thoughts. "A Musok? That doesn't seem to be strong, right?"

Epiphany's gaze grew serious as he spoke. "A Musok serves as the messenger between the spirit realms. They bridge the gap between the world of the living and the world of spirits, acting as a medium for communication and energy transfer." 

"The boy's grandmother possessed a very concentrated bloodline, imbued with latent abilities that could have made her a powerful Messenger. But by the time I realized her potential, she was already too old to help us."

He paused, his eyes reflecting a steely determination rather than sorrow.

"Now, the boy will have to take on that burden. His bloodline carries the same potential, and it is our responsibility to train him, to push his abilities to their maximum."

"A Musok's power is not just in their inherent abilities but in their capacity to channel the energy of the spirit realm, to act as an intermediary who can influence both worlds."

The storyteller kept eating his food while also listening to Epiphany talk, focusing on his meal but occasionally glancing up.

The quiet clinking of their utensils against the porcelain plates mingled with the soft sounds of the night. 

He finally asked, "I still don't realize how a Musok can help you. Regardless of if they can affect the spiritual and mortal worlds at the same time, aren't they still very weak?"

Epiphany leaned back, his gaze turning contemplative. The river outside seemed to ripple more vigorously as if responding to his thoughts.

"Do you remember the Heavenly Chens? They seemed invincible, their Emperor's might casting a domain over the entire realm. But even they fell, didn't they?"

"The strength of an individual is fleeting; what I need is not just raw power, but someone who can be molded, someone who can serve a purpose beyond their strength."

He continued, his voice now a soft murmur, "The river of fate is a powerful force, an ethereal stream that connects all life and existence. For a Musok to be effective, he must be accepted by this river as a vessel, a medium through which its power can flow."

The storyteller paused, considering Epiphany's words.

The soft rustle of leaves from a nearby tree mixed with the rhythmic sound of water. "What happens if the boy becomes this vessel?"

Epiphany's eyes glinted with a cold, calculating light. "He will become a part of the river of fate, a conduit for its power. In essence, he will become a puppet, a tool to achieve our ends."

The storyteller's eyes widened in a mixture of awe and fear. "So he becomes a part of the river of fate? Like a puppet?"

Epiphany nodded, the dim lights reflecting off the water casting eerie shadows on his face. "We will train him rigorously, honing his skills and expanding his understanding of both realms. Once the river of fate accepts him, he will gain the ability to traverse and influence the spiritual and mortal planes." 

"And then, we will turn back time. We will harness the power of the river to correct the wrongs of the past, to restore balance and harmony."

Epiphany's eyes were cold and calculating. "It is a heavy burden to bear, but it is also a necessary one. The role of a Musok is not just a task; it is a means to an end. With the boy's potential and the proper training, he will become the key to achieving our goals. His sacrifice will allow me to go back to the time before the Samsara Sect was destroyed, to undo the damage and reclaim what was lost."

The storyteller's eyes widened further, a mixture of awe and fear crossing his face. "You're playing with dangerous forces, Epiphany," he murmured.

Epiphany nodded slowly. "I know. But it's a risk I'm willing to take. For the sake of Samsara, and for the balance of the realms."