Xerion fancied himself a thinker. A clever man. The furthest thing from the common brutes, practiced only in the use of their muscles.
For him to act, all available information had to first be gathered and deliberated upon. He refused to accept anything less than the optimal solution for any given situation.
Well that’s a load of bollocks, he thought, as two Practitioners held him by the arms, keeping him kneeling, bare-chested, in the middle of the ceremonial platform. If this ain’t the perfect example of things going tits up, I don’t know what is.
To be fair, he was aware – in theory – of what this process would entail, but there was a difference between knowing and knowing. He’d come out ahead from this ordeal, undoubtedly, yet that knowledge brought him barely any comfort.
He truly didn’t look forward to getting stabbed in the heart.
The Grand Elder stood before him, his shiny head almost as eye-catching as the two insignias woven into his beard. The first was emerald, with a flame engraved upon its surface – to symbolize his position in the clan. The second golden, three lines coming together into the shape reminiscent of a double-legged T.
Xerion knew what that meant. Practitioner of the Second Rank, at the end of his advancement journey.
The geezer’s robes were loose and colored in shades of brown and yellow. Purified hide of a Darkfiend Wolf. Quite the durable material, though on this particular occasion, Xerion suspected the elder to be after the quality that made it supremely easy to clean.
Blood would mark it before the day’s end, after all.
Not that the old fossil would mind that much. His mouth might’ve been set into a grim line, but the sparks of anticipation in his beady eyes were unmistakable.
Xerion refused to entertain the thought that the man might’ve been excited for the raising of a new Practitioner. No way in hells; he’s just sadistic.
The codger’s substantial girth obstructed a fair bit of his view. That, and his aura. The presence that he exuded demanded attention, its weight enough to make those soft of heart weak in the knees.
Ahead of that balding sack of meat and disapproval stood a crowd, a bunch of random folks here to see Xerion’s rise or fall. He felt the urge to look at them but hesitated, suddenly reluctant, unsure which possibility caused him more distress: the one in which he saw her, or the one in which he didn’t.
He forced those feelings down. He needed to know. And so his eyes jumped from person to person, taking in their features before dismissing them, focused on finding that single, thick braid of ginger hair.
Not here. Of course not. He shook his head, sighed softly, and forced himself to once more concentrate on the elder.
In the rotund man’s palm laid a gleaming blade, slightly curved at the tip and darker than the void beyond the dome’s confines. It looked positively devilish, but also more like a toothpick than a weapon. Especially when held by that giant.
“The road to Ascension is long, with few given the chance to traverse it,” the Grand Elder’s voice boomed, eliciting winces from all who gathered to witness today’s ceremony.
“And it is filled with pain and obstacles aplenty,” he continued, raising the blade above his head. “From the day of elevation, when one of mortal flesh joins the hallowed ranks of Practitioners, till the final moments of defiance, when one of earthly roots tries to transcend to the realms beyond.”
As his words fell, a thin membrane of golden essence covered the Grand Elder from head to toe. It shone with the warmth that could come only from the heart, one cultivated to hold the pure and positive energy of emotions, the only thing which allowed their clan to stand against the void’s encroachment.
“Today, another has the honor of setting on that never-ending journey. If he can overcome his first trial, that is.”
The man’s belly jiggled slightly as he turned around and lowered the dagger. Essence congregated upon it, turning the vile instrument into something that seemed almost holy.
He bent low at the waist, small and sharp eyes looking into the depths of Xerion’s own.
“Prepare yourself, young Xerion, for many fail before their first step. Open your heart.” He smiled. “I shall aid you in this endeavor.”
The infused metal had no more trouble parting Xerion’s flesh than it would air. First skin, then muscle gave way, and before a thought could form in his mind, the dagger pierced his heart. The smile in front of him grew.
His eyes barely registered the movement as the blade in the Grand Elder’s palm twisted, the hole in his chest growing to the size large enough for an essence coin to pass through.
The weapon departed, and the pain arrived.
Somehow, it was… lesser than expected. Far below the disciplining canes, sticks of wood enchanted to leave marks not on the body, but on the psyche of the target of their ministrations. Below even the agony of refinement pastes, concoctions surely of the void itself, with the burning and rending and everything they subjected their users to.
This felt… distant.
But of course it did. He was dying, his body rapidly shutting down, leaving little need for warnings of something being wrong.
I’ve got a hole in my chest. In my heart.
A fat finger dug into the bloody wound, pushing in a thing of green and blue and gold. It dug deeper and deeper, till it reached the very source of his life, and soon… of his power.
The thing released a torrent of pure essence, free of concepts and free of owners. Ready to be imprinted upon by any Practitioner, even an aspiring one.
Clarity of thought returned to him with the dawn of his salvation. Well-practiced mantras of the [Empyrean Heartfire] method appeared in his mind, and now, with his heart literally open and with energy aplenty, magic which he yearned for since the age of six bloomed into existence.
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His eyes clouded, taking on the greyish hue of the soon-to-be departed. It didn’t matter. He saw enough, as he saw within.
Formless mists of brilliant light drifted through the core of his being. A consciousness descended upon them, its might undeniable so close to its origin. It demanded they follow, gather into shapes sublime yet other, their meaning known only to the method’s creator – the Progenitor of Xerion’s lineage.
They followed his command, something intrinsic to them changing. It resulted in them gaining a quality that was known but not yet fully understood – not in the muddled state that his mind was in – as well as something distinctively Xerion, as little sense as that made.
And then they collapsed, all into a single point, all into a single mass, getting deeper and denser and better and—
His heart exploded and imploded, shrunk and grew, withered and was born anew, storms of violent energies ravaging everything in range, all in its path destroye—
His heart was perfectly fine, other than the hole in his chest which continued to leak bloo—
Not a wound nor scar marred his chest, the skin pristine, shining with an undeniable luster. Even the damage previously wrought by refinement of his flesh was gone without a trace.
Grey started to recede, giving way to the true ocean blue of his orbs. As the shadow of death started to depart, so did his inner vision began to fade, pushing into his mind images of a smiling, annoying, punchable face ahead of him.
Xerion concentrated, trying to glean a last look at his core, to understand what truly took place within his depths.
There, a tiny flame now resided. It was little more than a Spark, swaying despite the lack of wind, and its color was so faint as to be nearly translucent. But it was, undeniably, right there, inside his heart.
In my Heartspace, he corrected himself, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The essence of Heart Practitioners resides within their Heartspace. Practitioners like me.
A manic laugh began to build in his chest, but he squashed it. Now, sadly, wasn’t the time. Let’s finish this accursed ceremony.
“And so another joins our ranks. Speak now, young Xerion, what lies within your heart?!”
He knew of what the elder asked. That special quality of his essence, so elusive mere moments before, yet so clear now.
Xerion opened his mouth, yet naught but air escaped his lips. He took a moment to collect himself. Tears gathered in his eyes as he spoke, chest filled with pride and sadness in equal measure.
“Courage,” he said, then with more strength to his words, “My heart is filled with Courage.”
The Grand Elder seemed taken aback, spending a second or two to process what he just heard – practically an eternity for a Practitioner of his Rank. The man understood. He nodded to him, less joyous now, more solemn.
“And what will you make of it?”
“A shield, for the void’s tide to break on the reef that is I, and a sword, for the fiends within its depths to feel the wrath of the Empyrean Clan’s Scion!”
The crowd roared its approval, while the Grand Elder stepped forward and extended a hand to Xerion. He took it, directing a genuine smile at the man for the first time in his life.
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The crowd departed, and so did his joy. Today’s ceremony, the figurative and literal opening of his heart, was one of the most important events in a Practitioner’s journey. It marked its beginning, after all.
Xerion stood alone, not a soul around to offer him congratulations.
He should’ve been used to it at this point, yet it hurt still. How could she not come? Not that he wanted her to. He explicitly told her not to, in fact. But he thought she would come anyway.
She didn’t.
And the second missing figure… Xerion shook his head. Today was a good day. He didn’t want to ruin it. So, he forcefully changed his line of thought into one that made him snigger.
I will make it into a shield! A sword! He thought, recalling his previous words and putting as much sarcasm into his inner voice as he could. More like into fuckin’ boots, to run away from this shithole.
That was the plan. To gain power, then use it to find a way out. He wouldn’t rest before his skin could feel the touch of true light, not this fake thing conjured by the workings and essence of the Pillars.
Xerion raised his head. The dome of golden power shone as brilliantly as ever, but he wanted more. To journey beyond the last few surviving cities of his clan. To go and see the lands he read so much about. Lands free of the ever-encroaching darkness, the void that twisted all upon its touch.
How free people living there must be?
But to go there, he needed power. And a lot of it, given that no one has even seen such places since the Dawn of the Dark. Maybe they didn’t exist anymore, and this, right here, was the last remnant of a fallen world.
But maybe they did. He intended to find out.
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With a twist of thought and a tiny ask, directed at existence itself, the Sui Scroll unfolded before him, its contents detailing all that he was and all that he accomplished.
Cultivation:
Rank – Ignition
Sub-Rank – Level 1
Progress – 1 of 3 Sparks
Methods:
Primary – Heart – [Empyrean Heartfire] (Mythic)
Auxiliary – Mind – [N/A]
Auxiliary – Body – [N/A]
Heart Attributes:
Potency – 21
Adroitness – 14
Integrity – 19
Mind Attributes:
Focus – 11
Acumen – 11
Will – 11
Body Attributes:
Power – 11
Finesse – 11
Constitution – 11
His attributes have finally grown beyond the mortal bounds of ten. For years he toiled to reach perfection before initiation, suffering torments untold for an increase of a single point. Now he gained thirty, just like that.
Maybe I should consider getting stabbed in the heart more often.
Xerion snorted. He valued his life too much for such foolishness, not to mention that such actions would lead to nothing but death from this point on.
He looked at the Attributes with a more critical eye. Body and mind have simply broken through the barrier that stymied their growth before. It’s the heart, the true core of my cultivation, that progressed.
And it was all thanks to his primary cultivation method. Its details were not something he’d ever forget, yet still, he wanted to look upon them once more. Xerion flicked his hand – a pointless but strangely exhilarating gesture – and summoned the technique’s information.
[Empyrean Heartfire] (Mythic)
A heart cultivation method created by Aluxus, the Empyrean.
Inspired by a wisp of Truefire she witnessed in her youth, through millennia of research and experimentation, a method able to produce one of the most tyrannical flames in existence was born.
This method specializes in condensing the Emotional Essence produced by a Heart Practitioner to a ludicrous degree, with each Spark able to grant vastly more power and energy than their unassuming appearance would suggest. Through gradual growth and fundamental changes wrought at each Rank of cultivation, this method will eventually allow a Practitioner to house an undying Heartfire inside their Heartspace.
Due to the domineering nature of Heartfire and the extreme requirements needed for its creation, the overall prowess of [Empyrean Heartfire]’s Practitioners is lower than the method’s grade would imply. Before Heartfire’s birth, that is.
Xerion’s heart trembled as he read the words, just as it always did. Those simple lines of text conveyed such grand feats.
Mythic grade. Millennia of research. One of the most tyrannical flames in existence.
How incredible of a figure his Progenitor must’ve been? What more did she accomplish? He longed to turn back time, to see the journey that led to her being Titled “the Empyrean.”
He often wondered, though. What happened to her? Surely at her Rank, whatever that it was, she must’ve been ageless or close to that point.
Why hasn’t she stopped the Dawn of the Dark? Where was she now?
He’d asked those questions years before, and then many more times later on, but the answer was always the same: no one knew.
Xerion sighed. There was so much to learn. So much to see. He needed power and he needed it now.
And so, determined to not waste any more time, he headed in the direction of a certain baldy.