Teng woke to the sound of heavy knocking, a muffled rhythm that pulled him from a dream he could not remember. He lay tangled in a bundle of animal furs, his limbs twisted like roots in the earth, his cheek sticky with his own saliva.
For a moment, the world was a blur, the dim light seeping through space in the wall strange and unfamiliar. It took several breaths to piece his thoughts together, and several more to wrest himself free of the furs. Finally, he rose, and stumbled to the door.
Outside, a man waited. He was broad, thick around the chest and shoulders, his short, black hair bristling like the fur of a beast on edge. His dark eyes studied Teng with the sharpness of a hunter sizing up a kill. A smirk tugged at the man’s lips, and Teng would put him as between twenty-five and thirty cycles.
“Follow me,” The man said, his voice low and gruff, and began to walk away.
The air was cold, the sky a pale grey that spoke of dawn yet to come. As they stepped out from the main house of the tribe, Teng blinked at the sight before him. Though the sun had not yet risen, the village was already stirring.
Tribefolk moved between sturdy wooden houses, their forms shadowy in the half-light. Fires crackled here and there, sending thin streams of smoke spiralling into the awakening sky. Children darted through the gaps, and through squawking legs, their laughter sharp and fleeting like the cries of small birds.
The man led him silently through the village, weaving between the growing thong and bustle. Teng felt the weight of their glances—some curious, others indifferent, and a few openly disdainful. Still, he said nothing, following his guide’s broad back as they moved through a wide house near the uppermost area of the town, where a wide stretch of ground packed firm with trampled soil lay beyond.
“This,” the man said, gesturing with a sweep of his arm, “is the training yard.”
Teng’s gaze swept the expanse. A group of boys, for that was what they were, stood gathered near the middle, their faces, young and wary, eager and alert.
“You will train with the children.” The man said, chuckled, then turned to face him fully, his expression now hard as stone. “But be here before dawn every day,” he said, each word heavy with command. “You eat when told, train as told, do as told. The Bear took you in, but make no mistake—the instructor will throw you out if you prove unworthy of our resources.”
The words landed like stones in Teng’s gut. He nodded, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. Strength was survival here, and to fail was to be cast aside.
The man smirked as he saw Teng’a discomfort, his expression turning into one of grim satisfaction as stepped back and left through the door in which they came in through, leaving Teng to find his place among the boys a couple of cycles younger than him.
Teng wondered what the man’s problem was, then simply shrugged.
Maybe this is how these tribe people are. From what I hear, Merakk isn’t exactly the kind person I imagined him to be either.
Teng’s gaze swept over the boys as the group turned their eyes toward him.
One stepped forward—a tall, wiry boy with dark, unevenly cropped hair and a faint scar cutting down his cheek. His sharp, brown eyes glinted with challenge, though there was a playful light in them as well. “You’re not from the tribe,” he stated.
“I’m not.” Teng admitted.
Another boy, shorter and stockier, with broad shoulders and unruly tufts of brown hair, chimed in with a laugh. His blue eyes sparkled with mirth as he smirked. “No mark, either. Ha, didn’t know we took in strays.”
Teng felt anger rise. Did these boys think they were men? In his village, to insult a man as a boy was unthinkable; to be a man was to complete the journey to manhood. Then he calmed, for he was in his tribe no more, and must adapt. He forced a faint smile instead.
“What’s so funny?” the stocky boy asked, stepping forward.
“I–”
“If he’s here, he’s here, stupid.” the tall boy reprimanded. “And I was talking to him first.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” the stocky boy retorted.
“But you’re getting it!”
The taller boy grinned as he suddenly lunged forward. With a shove, he sent the other sprawling into the dirt. The stocky boy landed with a grunt, rolling over and bursting into laughter as he sat up.
“You’ll regret that!” he shouted, and laughed as he got to his feet and patted away the dirt. He was just about to charge, grinning ear to ear, when the door creaked open. The boys froze mid-motion as an old man stepped inside.
In an instant, they scrambled into a line, though the stocky boy stuck out his tongue at the taller one before falling into place, his laughter still lingering in the air. Teng quickly joined the line, not entirely sure what he had just witnessed.
The old man stepped forward, his gait steady, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a cold wind. “You little rascals done? Think I didn’t see that?”
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Teng glanced at the boys who had fought, noting how they shuffled uneasily under the old man’s gaze, their defiance melting away like frost in the morning sun.
“Take a rock. Horse-stance.” the man commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The two boys hung their heads, their bravado extinguished, and walked together to a pile of large stones at one corner of the yard. Each selected a rock, hefting it with both hands, and spread their legs wide, holding the weight outstretched before them. The strain was evident in their postures, yet neither uttered a word.
Now that Teng had a chance to properly look around, he noticed the many strange items scattered about the yard—logs, ropes, and peculiar contraptions of wood and stone. Each, he guessed, served some unique and gruelling purpose in their training.
The old man turned to him then, his sharp eyes appraising. “New boy, I’m Tarlic, the instructor of this sorry lot,” he said, gesturing to the group. “I’m told you’ve little essence and know nothing of cultivation, but if you follow my commands, you’ll breeze past these children.”
The yard erupted into curses and cries of protest, the boys indignant at the suggestion. Teng couldn’t help but notice the faint smile tugging at Tarlic’s weathered face, as though the response was exactly what he expected. “Oh?” Tarlic drawled, his tone teasing. “Seems like you lot want to join your two friends. All of you—get to the rocks!”
For a moment, the boys stood frozen in silent rebellion. Then, as Tarlic took a single step forward, they scattered like startled birds, dashing toward the stone pile. Each boy grabbed a rock and assumed the stance with practised reluctance, their grumbling subdued to muttered complaints.
Tarlic turned to Teng, his voice cutting sharply through the air. “What are you waiting for, boy? You stupid?”
Realizing the command was directed at him, Teng quickly moved to the pile, selected a stone, and mimicked the stance of the others. The weight of the rock felt manageable at first, and his disfigured hand didn’t impact him. He wondered briefly why this was considered a punishment. It didn’t seem so difficult.
As time passed, his opinion shifted. Sweat began to bead on his brow, dripping down his temples and pooling at his groin. His leather wrap grew damp and uncomfortable, its thick, unwieldy material sticking to his skin. Unlike the boys around him, who wore thinner, more flexible garments, Teng’s clothing clung and chafed, amplifying his discomfort.
His arms trembled, the burn spreading to his thighs as he struggled to keep the stone aloft. His legat fingers were straining much more than his right. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other boys—stoic, unyielding—though their strained faces betrayed the effort they endured. Their smaller frames and lean muscles seemed ill-suited to such endurance, and Teng couldn’t help but wonder how much essence they had cultivated to sustain themselves.
Finally, Tarlic’s voice rang out. “You may relax.”
The relief was instant, though Teng’s arms felt leaden as he lowered the stone. His muscles ached, and his breath came in shallow gasps. The training yard, he realized, was no mere place of discipline—it was a battlefield for the body and the spirit alike.
“Deep breaths,” the old man instructed, his voice steady and calm.
Moments later, the door creaked open, and marked men entered, their broad shoulders straining as they carried heavy baskets. Without a word, they set the baskets down before the boys and exited again, the door closing firmly behind them.
At once, the boys scrambled forward, their earlier discipline forgotten, and began pulling chunks of meat from the baskets, stuffing their faces with voracious hunger.
“Eat before there’s nothing left,” the old man said to Teng. “You’ll need it.”
Teng hesitated only briefly before crawling forward like the others. The baskets were indeed brimming with an assortment of prepared meats, their savoury aroma filling the air. He couldn’t identify the types—some had a deep red colour, others pink and glistening with juices—but it mattered little.
He picked up a piece and bit into it, the flavour rich and intense. As he ate, warmth spread through him, filling his body with an energetic euphoria. The meat brimmed with essence, and Ten ate until his stomach felt tight, and he could consume no more.
The old man approached, crouching down to meet Teng’s eyes. “I was told you have essence lore and can control your essence. So, start by infusing it into your stomach and intestines. These organs are crucial. The better they are, the more you meat you can eat, the faster you can cultivate. Focus until you feel a heavy sensation in those places. Once you do, guide the remaining essence to the rest of your body. This time, focus on your heart and blood vessels. They will strengthen your endurance and make your breath last longer.”
Teng frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “What are blood vessels?”
The old man sighed, though there was no impatience in the sound. “Look inward,” he said. “They are the paths through which your blood flows.”
With that, the old man rose and moved to sprawl out before the boys, elbow on the ground supporting his head, his eyes closed.
Teng hesitated, then closed his own eyes and focused, following the instructions. He directed the essence to his stomach and intestines, concentrating on guiding the streams of essence until he could feel a weighted sensation within. He could feel them growing stronger, actually feel the process.
How much stronger might I have been if I had focused on specific parts of my body instead of letting the essence flow wherever it wished all these years?
The regret was fleeting. He shook his head and returned to the task, guiding the remaining energy to his heart and searching inward for the elusive paths the old man had described. The past could not be changed, but the future—his future—was now in his hands.
Then came more physical training. The morning’s strain had been mere play, and Teng soon found himself near to retching. His stomach churned with every movement, though he suspected it would have been far worse had he not guided much of his essence into his stomach and intestines earlier. They lifted rocks in countless ways—overhead, to the chest, from the ground to above their head. They threw them up and caught them with bent legs. When that was done, they ran laps around the yard, only to halt and drop into more gruelling exercises.
By the time they were allowed to eat again, Teng’s hunger had returned in full force. He crawled to the baskets as eagerly as the others, consuming the meat with the same focus as before. The warmth of the essence revived him briefly, only for it to be burned away during the next round of physical exertion. The process repeated throughout the day—gruelling labour, followed by ravenous eating, then more labour.
As the sun dipped low, the boys resembled living corpses. Pale and drenched in sweat, their limbs trembled with every step. Teng felt his breath coming in ragged gasps, his muscles screaming with every movement. He glanced at the others, noting their exhaustion mirrored his own. None spoke—they were too tired even for grumbles.
“That’s it for today,” Tarlic finally said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “Rest well. Tomorrow is combat training. Be here at dawn.”
The boys let out soft groans of relief, some sinking to their knees. Teng staggered to his feet, the promise of rest keeping him upright. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but today had taught him one thing: This would not be easy.