As Ren ate the strange meal, he felt a warmth growing in him. His cycling came easier and the final dregs of his dark thoughts melted away.

He yawned. When had he last relaxed? He couldn’t say. Spirits, was he tired.

Osai leaned back, closed his eyes, and seemed to be asleep instantly.

Ren chuckled. What a strange old man, indeed. Melfina had her eyes closed, too, and was seated in the lotus position, breathing rhythmically. Probably some kind of cultivator meditation.

His eyes drooped, and he lay back into the roots of the great tree and fell into a deep slumber.

He dreamed of a great dragon. An emperor of the heavens. It commanded storms and sky and power that shook the bones of the earth. Aeons came and went, and it was wounded. It found its final resting place on a shattered plain. A land broken by monstrous conflict. A land it had failed to protect.

Sheets of rocky flesh—the crust of the earth—ground together and shifted with the passing ages, and folded the great dragon’s skeleton into it. Its bones forming the foundation of a spiraling mountain range. Its skull at the center, the heart of a singular, nameless mountain, wreathed in lightning that could not remember the dragon who birthed it.

*******

Osai didn’t sleep. He never did. Not anymore.

Whenever he closed his eye, a thousand years of life played out before him. Some of these remembrances were painful. The path to power bore one on a carpet of blood, some said. He’d never questioned it. The old religion, taught by the priests of the Way, pointed to ascension as the highest calling of all living things. To them, observers of the natural world, students of the patterns of life, there was no greater evidence of the holiness of the path of cultivation than the attainment of godhood, true immortality and power and knowledge.

Yes, he’d never questioned any of it. Not the death, nor tears, nor ruin that followed in his wake. Those few, brave enough to come at him with their complaints or vengeance, couldn’t even stand in the pressure of his presence.

That was the way of the world. Wasn’t it?

So he’d thought, until he met the Master. Those remembrances were the greatest gift of his forced reflection. Those eyes. The curve of his jaw. The way his hair danced. The music in his voice.

For so long the Master taught him, told him secrets and stories. But he’d never grasped the truth behind the words.

“Student,” said the Master one day as they walked through a field of barley, frost bitten beyond repair, “what is death for?”

These kinds of questions, that seemed to have no answer, his Master always loved posing.

“What if this field was able to survive the bite of early winter? The farmers and their sons and daughters and the animals who share their roof would surely be grateful. In fact, three of the children of this village who won’t live to the next reaping would survive if this grain survived to harvest.”

The student—for Osai had yet to be given his name—wanted to say, “who cares about some mortal farmer’s children.” But instead he said nothing.

“Wouldn’t the world be a more beautiful place if there was another young girl to weave spring’s flowers into a crown?” The Master cast his hand out in a gentle wave and the frost melted, and those stalks that were all but dead gained color and strength and doubled in size. Then his hand swept back in, and the field returned to how it was.

“I could change the fates of millions with this one harvest. A son, destined to die here, would die instead on the field of battle, saving the life of another, one who could be a Hero if allowed to bloom. But I won’t.”

The student did understand the importance of Heroes. He was one, after all. “Why don’t you, Master?”

“We all think that learning happens in our minds and our bodies. But what about the learning of the soul? There is a learning that cannot be held or carried in a memory. That cannot be contained in a single body.

“A longer life this time around seems a blessing to one who fears death. But the greatest gift is true learning. Who am I to take that from them? Who am I to take the fate that draws them toward the end of the River, and twist it to my own design? Sometimes death is the greater gift. Sometimes inaction, allowing pain, even when it twists my heart, is the kindest sort of action.”

The student didn’t understand on that day. He only understood that his Master was the most beautiful being he’d ever seen. He only understood that he’d do anything to make that sad smile into one of joy.

There was something about the nature of the heavenly lightning in Osai’s body that reminded him of his master. He had raged against it with his will for decades, tried to bend it to his purposes the way he’d had bent the very threads of his fate in the past, but under this tree, he finally realized that it was teaching him, not punishing him. His final gift from the Master.

Surely it was his Master’s will that pushed against his. His Master’s voice crackling and shining through him.

Today, leaning against an old tree in a forest, listening to the sounds of sleep from his companions, Osai thought maybe he understood that lesson a little more. He could feel the many needs Ren had. His closeness to death. His desperation, driven by the threads that bound him to family. With this power, Osai understood, he could fix all that. But he wouldn’t. He would help to repair the damage done by the monster that had infected the boy when it was no doubt called by the power trapped in his own body. He would repay the kindness of a strange boy who picked up an old man and gave him shelter. He would give him healing, and friendship, but he would not teach. He would not shape the boy’s path to his own liking. Besides, there were threads binding the boy’s fate that he could not trace, could not fathom.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

But still, maybe he could push things along just a little.

*******

Nap time ended and Ren rubbed his eyes. What a weird dream. He was still yawning when he saw it.

“Osai, what is that?” He finally took proper note of the fruit that had been sitting at the feet of the old man this whole time. It seemed not to properly catch the light of the sun, as though it wasn’t fully there. Instead, a barely perceptible glow emanated from within.

“A spirit fruit.”

“Really? Spirits fruit! How did you get it?” According to the stories, spirit fruits were incredibly rare, and often guarded by Awakened Beasts. His favorite story had been the one about Talia the Oak-Kin. Her story began with a spirit fruit. It was actually one of the stories that Osai had told him.

“Oh, no.” said Osai. “It isn’t mine. The badgers left it here.”

“Pardon, Great One.” The voice was high and raspy, but undoubtedly feminine. It was the biggest badger. It was talking! “The fruit was this servant’s gift for you. Our tribute for the protection you offer our family.”

“There is no tribute between friends,” said Osai, reaching out a hand to scratch it—her—behind the ears.

Ren had never seen a badger up close, so he hadn’t known that their faces could express emotion so clearly. But the way her nostrils flared and tongue whipped out communicated a shock flavored by eagerness.

“Besides, the food you share is more than enough for this simple old man.” Osai turned to Ren. “It seems to me that fate has put a rare treasure before your feet. What will you do?”

The fruit seemed to be calling to him. But could he take such a treasure from the badgers? It was theirs, but they’d given it away and Osai hadn’t accepted it.

Would they let him take it?

He reached out and grabbed it. It was warm, and felt like nothing he’d ever touched. Like touching a dream.

Fear pinched the badger’s face. She’d probably let him take it if he wanted to. Osai was leaving it up to him.

I know you’ll make us proud. Don’t lose that.

His mother’s words were still with him. But she couldn’t have known what he’d been through. Power wafted in the very scent of the fruit. His mouth watered.

The badger’s eyes widened to a desperate plea. He could feel her need just as he felt his own. But this might be the answer to all his problems. This wasn’t about just him. It was for his family.

Don’t hurt others, don’t steal. No matter how hard it gets.

“Here.” He extended the fruit to the badger.

Her eyes narrowed and she reached out cautiously, a pointy smile creasing her face when she took it.

“This servant offers thanks to the friend of the Great One. We did not know such kindness existed in the hearts of humans. I am Mupali’katana, Sett-Mother.” She offered a bow.

“Yes,” said Osai. “Little Mupa was very cautious of humans when she came to me. I’m glad you were able to prove me right, Ren. Not all of us humans are so terrible.”

Osai was insane. A pet name for an Awakened Beast. And why did they keep calling him the ‘Great One’? Wait, were these the same badgers he’d seen the day of the caravan attack? No, that would be too big a coincidence.

“Happy to meet you, honored Sett-Mother.” He couldn’t afford to be as cavalier as Osai with such a beast.

“Mupa, would you mind taking a look at my young friend? He has an infection of the spirit, and I know you have a wise nose.”

“Certainly, Great One.” She turned to Ren and shut her dark eyes, sniffing deep and long. Her face turned to a furry grimace.

“He has been tainted by the Darkness! How does he live?”

“I was hoping we could untie this knot together. I believe you may be able to help.”

“The fruit, Great One?” She hugged it protectively to her body.

“No. I fear the infection will only feed on loose energy introduced to his body. But if I am not mistaken, the great sun-badgers have a method of reaching into their little ones to guide Qi. I have an idea of how to contain it, but I would need you to do it.”

Ren snuck a glance at Lady Melfina who had been mostly quiet since they’d arrived. Her face was painted with awe, her eyes fixed upon Osai. “Can I assist you, Master?” she asked.

“Hmmm. I think you can. But not with this stage. You will need to mentor my young friend until he can manage with the structure we are going to build within him. We cannot draw out the spirit-venom so we will be weaving it into him. It will change many things about his spirit. Including his attunements. He may find it difficult to connect to his innate affinities.”

“Consider it done, master.”

*******

Melfina mostly diverted her gaze as Ren stripped and lay between the roots of her master’s tree. An ugly, jagged scar crossed his hollow abdomen. Opening her perception, she saw shadow aligned Qi roiling just beneath the scar. It seemed to have a life of its own though it was being drawn out and away from his core and his injury along his meridians with each of his slow breaths. If it stopped moving and settled in his flesh, he would die. She couldn’t even imagine if he had eaten the fruit just right now, pulling all that Qi to his core. Her master must have predicted this outcome.

She looked closer and saw shining pinpricks of star-like energy that marked the pathways of his body, no doubt empowering his breathing technique. It was her master’s energy. Pure heavenly sky Qi. Heaven’s Fire. This venom must be powerful indeed, for heavenly Qi was known to rule other forms of Qi, and a mere spark was usually enough to cancel any technique or power in the mortal or spiritual realm.

The Awakened Beast, Mupali-katana, sliced the fruit perfectly down the center, then again and ingested one of the quarters. Her beastial eyes glowed even as she chewed, and her coat of fur vibrated with power.

What happened next was a surprise. The beast swallowed, breathed, clearly cycling the power, then retched—into the supine boy’s mouth.

He gagged but swallowed, his whole body trembling.

Her master knelt beside, whispering instructions to the beast as she dragged her humming paws in patterns along Ren’s body. The boy bucked and shook and seized, but the male badger ran over and started a dance which pressed on the energy in the boy’s limbs, keeping his movement to a minimum.

The boy sweat and screamed and spasmed, going from beet red to pale and back again for hours and hours until, at last, her Master waved a hand and the little stars of energy were pulled in from their scattered positions about his body. They were drawn from the wound, each one evaporating as it hit the scar, and by the time it finished, the scar seemed to have misted away.

One tiny pinprick remained, penetrating down into the flow of Mupali-Katana’s power and merging with it until it might not have existed at all.

And then it was done. A single ring of dark Qi rotated and spun around his dantian, which shone bright and clear as a spring breeze. It looked almost like an Inheritance.

“You will have to teach him to maintain this formation on his own, Melfina,” said her master.

Mupali-katana spoke, “My intent will keep this going for a week. After that, it will be up to him.”

So be it. She’d teach the boy. If that was what her master wanted.