Chunks of twisted metal floated through the air, guided by Eland's outstretched hands. Sweat beaded on his smooth skin as he maneuvered the debris into position against the ship's hull. The pieces locked together with a grinding screech, followed by a flash of blue light as Eland welded them in place.

Blake watched from below, arms crossed. "That's the fourth section you've moved in an hour. Maybe we should take a break."

"The hull won't repair itself." Eland's voice carried a slight tremor. He raised another massive sheet of metal, this one easily twice Blake's height. The piece wavered in the air, dipping dangerously before Eland steadied it.

"You're pushing too hard. I've seen what happens when people work past exhaustion."

"This strain serves a purpose." Eland's breath came in short bursts as he guided the metal sheet. "Each time I reach my limits, my cultivation advances. The pressure forges strength."

Blake stepped forward. "Let me help, at least."

A wheezing sound emerged from Eland that might have been a laugh. "Unless you've spontaneously developed telekinesis, I don't see how you'll lift these six-hundred-kilo plates." The metal sheet wobbled again. "Though I appreciate the offer."

"There has to be something else I can do besides watch you work yourself to death."

"Your concern is noted." Eland's arms trembled as he sealed another section. "But this is necessary. Both for the repairs and my own growth. If you really want to help, you can actually start running through that exercise I sent you about cycling mana. The sooner we develop your core, the better."

Blake grumbled, but sat down on one of the emptied salvage carts to pull up the training routine again. Maybe the third time would be the charm.

Blake settled into a cross-legged position, back straight against a crate. His fingers rested lightly on his knees, palms up. The HUD flickered with diagrams showing energy pathways through the body, like rivers flowing through abstract terrain.

"Focus on your breath," the tutorial text scrolled. "Visualize drawing in power with each inhale, letting it pool in your core."

He breathed in through his nose, counting to four. The air tasted of metal and ozone. He held it for seven counts, trying to imagine ethereal energy flowing with the oxygen into his cells. A slow exhale for eight counts followed.

Nothing happened.

Blake's jaw clenched. He'd spent years mastering physical disciplines - martial arts, marksmanship, tactical movement. But this was different. There was nothing to grip, no resistance to push against. Just empty space and abstract concepts.

"The energy exists everywhere," the next instruction read. "Picture it as a vast ocean you float within. Feel the current brush against your skin."

Above him, metal groaned as Eland manipulated another hull section. Blake forced his shoulders to relax, trying to sink deeper into the meditation. He'd seen Eland channel power like it was an extension of his body. If it was possible, there had to be a concrete method to grasp it.

He focused on his heartbeat, steady and strong. If energy flowed like blood through vessels, maybe he could trace those pathways. Start with what he knew - anatomy, circulation, nerve impulses firing. Build from there to something larger.

A tingling sensation rippled across his skin, so faint he almost missed it. Blake's eyes snapped open, breaking his concentration. The feeling vanished like smoke in wind.

Cursing under his breath, he closed his eyes and started again. Four count inhale. Seven count hold. Eight count exhale.

Minutes stretched into hours as Blake cycled through the breathing exercises. His legs had gone numb, but he refused to shift position. That faint tingle from earlier haunted him - proof that something was there, just beyond his grasp.

A resounding crash jolted him from concentration. Blake's eyes flew open and he immediately had to shield his eyes from light reflecting off something in the mounds of scrap above him. He spun around to see Eland sprawled face-down in the dirt, a massive sheet of hull plating embedded in the ground beside him.

Blake sprinted over, combat instincts kicking in as he scanned for injuries. "Eland!"

The alien pushed himself up on trembling arms, skin several shades paler than usual. "I'm fine. Just... need a moment."

"Like hell you do." Blake crouched beside him, noting the shallow breathing and unfocused gaze. "You're done for today."

"Yes, I think—"

"Don't think, just breathe." Blake gripped Eland's arm, hauling him upright. The alien was massive, but Blake's barely felt any strain with his newly enhanced body. The alien swayed dangerously before Blake helped him find his balance. "Come on, bud. Food, water, rest. In that order."

"You sound like Zephyr."

"Then your AI has more sense than you do." Blake steered them toward the ship's entrance. "What happened to all that wisdom about patience and proper cultivation?"

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"Sometimes necessity outweighs wisdom."

"And sometimes stubbornness gets people killed." Blake's tone softened. "Whatever we're preparing for, it won't matter if you collapse first."

Eland's shoulders slumped. "Perhaps you have a point."

Blake scanned the area once more. Anything currently outside could stay there safely.

They made their way inside, Eland's steps growing steadier as they walked. Blake kept one hand hovering near his companion's elbow, ready to catch him if needed. The meditation could wait.

They were being watched.

----------------------------------------

As they crossed through the airlock and passed into the ship proper, Eland's gait normalized.

"Damn was I hoping that I was just paranoid," Blake said.

Eland stopped in the corridor, his massive frame turning to face Blake. His beluga-like features creased with concern.

"You were right. I sensed a presence in those scrap mounds." Eland's nostril slits flared. "How did you determine we were being watched?"

"I saw the glint of the scope our friend was using. I checked twice to be sure."

Eland's head tilted, his large eyes narrowing. "In a mountain of variously reflective material, including metal and glass, you recognized the glint of scope?"

"It's a very distinctive glint."

"I'm sure," Eland deadpanned. "We're going to have to make some choices about how to prepare for guests. There are 9 more men on their way towards our position. They're relatively close to the ship I met you at."

"Is that how you found me, then?" Blake asked. "Weird cultivator senses?"

"I didn't really take notice of you until I heard your weapon," Eland replied. "You basically don't show up to my spiritual perception at that range. You weren't exactly flush with energy for me to detect."

Blake grunted an acknowledgment. "Alright, so what's the plan? Think they're going to move in at sundown, or wait until later in the night?"

"Sundown, I'd bet," Eland replied. "We spotted them, so I doubt they're so disciplined that they'd assemble for an attack too long before they were ready to spring it. We've got less than two hours."

Blake ran a hand through his hair, considering their options. "What kind of defenses does this ship have? Turrets, blast doors, anything?"

"At the moment?" Eland's expression tightened. "Nothing. The crash damaged most of our external systems, and after the suit drained our power core..." He spread his massive hands in a helpless gesture.

Blake's jaw clenched. The memory of waking up in the med bay hit him with a wave of fresh guilt. His enhancement had come at the cost of their safety.

"If I hadn't gotten myself infected with that thing-"

"Don't," Eland cut him off. "The suit chose you, not the other way around."

"Still leaves us defenseless," Blake said. "With hostiles inbound and no way to keep them out."

"We're not defenseless." Eland's massive frame straightened. "We have ourselves. I'll recover enough strength to handle their strongest fighters before they arrive."

"And what about the rest of them?" Blake asked.

"From what I sensed, most aren't particularly skilled cultivators." Eland's lips curled into what Blake assumed was a smile. "A man of your tactical experience should be more than capable of dealing with several of them. If you're to be believed, your combat skills are considerable, even without cultivation abilities."

Blake's eyebrows rose. "So they're not all super-powered freaks like you?"

A deep rumble filled the corridor. Blake watched as Eland's massive frame shook with laughter, the sound rich and genuine.

"Most of them are just scavengers with basic energy awareness," Eland said. "They might be able to sense mana, but they're not much stronger or faster than you. A few might have learned some rudimentary techniques, but nothing that would give them a significant edge in combat."

Blake's fingers flexed, already running scenarios mentally. "How many of these barely-cultivators are we talking about?"

"Let's say you needed to handle six of them." Eland's large eyes fixed on Blake. "Given advance warning and the home field advantage, how would you fare?"

A predatory smile crept across Blake's face.

"Good, that's what I was hoping for," Eland said, chuckling. He then projected his voice to the side and spoke to the air. "Zeph, remember how I asked you to pull together some basics for Blake earlier?"

The small blue orb Zephy used to appear visually flickered to life next to Eland.

"Of course," she responded. "You wanted to lead him towards awakening his core gradually."

"Right, so—" Eland began, but Zephyr cut him off.

"And safely. Painlessly. These were all the words you used. Are we abandoning the gradual, safe, and painless plan?"

"Err… Yes. We weren't potentially facing an ambush then." Eland responded lamely. "Besides, I don't imagine Blake is the type that often chooses the easy way."

"Oh, do I get a say in this?" Blake interjected? "I'd be interested to know what we're even discussing."

"The suit appears to have restructured your cellular matrix to support cultivation," Zephyr's orb pulsed with each word, the blue light casting strange shadows across the room. "Your foundation is remarkably stable. Almost perfect, actually. I've never seen anything quite like it in a non-cultivator."

Blake crossed his arms, fighting down the unsettling feeling that came with discussing how fundamentally altered his body had become. "And what does that mean?" He kept his voice level, but his fingers drummed against his bicep.

"It means," Eland said, leaning forward with an intensity that made Blake want to step back, "we can jumpstart your mana core without the usual risks. The process is normally quite dangerous—like trying to forge steel in a wooden crucible. But your body has been rebuilt to handle the strain. You're already prepared in ways that most cultivators their youth working towards.

Blake's jaw tightened as he considered the implications. His military training had taught him to analyze threats, and right now, his own body felt like unknown territory. "What happens to me once I have one of these cores? More modifications? More changes?" He'd had enough of being altered without his explicit consent.

Eland's massive hand settled on Blake's shoulder. "Nothing so dramatic. You'll be the same person, just with access to abilities you were meant to have. Think of it as taking your first step on the path of cultivation."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Other than the promise of power and the freedom that comes with it? Or the chance at immortality?"

"Yeah," Blake said, chuckling. "I guess those are compelling reasons."

"There's also the fact that you'll be stronger and faster, better able to handle the people trying to ambush us."

"Alright, fine," Blake acquiesced. "Anything else or should we get on with this?"

"Well there is one more thing that bears explaining," Eland's eyes gleamed.

"Doing this will give you access to the System."