7th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

Obsidian left behind one confused Newt as he closed the door to the recovery room. Newt gazed at the pale-blue ceiling, considering the implications of everything he had heard. Average third realm inner disciples of major sects were between fifty and two hundred years old. Obsidian was not weird, Newt was.

Newt did not ask why Jasmine and Roselilly acted like children, but Obsidian inadvertently answered that question by justifying his own age.

Obsidian had spent twenty years gathering energy, just as many cultivating his realm, struggling with forming the perfect shapes inside his realm to strengthen his foundation. He spent years in the library, training combat skills, mastering techniques, resolving heart demons, and doing missions.

Ever since he was fifteen, Obsidian hardly had time for anything save the headlong dash towards the next realm. Always grabbing forward, reaching for an extra bit of power.

Newt rubbed his face, trying to find excuses for his teammates and failing.

They are fully grown adults! Wait, if Jasmine and Obsidian took so long to reach the third realm, how did Roselilly do it? She’s less than half their age.

Newt considered the matter and quickly reached an answer. Roselilly had a master, Obsidian and Jasmine did not. Cultivation with resources and someone to tell you what you should do was five or ten times faster than the library approach and scant resources. While it does not mean the climb is impossible, it is countless times harder. After all, Dandelion was an obvious example of lone cultivators doing things quickly without external aid.

Newt closed his eyes. My opportunities are good enough. Master wants me to figure things out on my own, but not because she doesn’t want to explain things, but because she thinks some things I will need to learn on my own, and she’s right.

Newt inhaled, his racing thoughts slowing. I will trust her and do my best.

With that, he entered his realm. The light breeze was pleasantly scalding, the earth beneath Newt’s feet solid and warm, and the surrounding black forest seemed to rise into eternity, touching the blazing sky.

Newt took a moment to appreciate the sight before heading to the nearest stream of lava, and following its languid flow down the mountain of his spiritual realm.

Is this me? He wondered, gazing into the lava, and turning back to take in the imposing volcano. It was an age-old question, was the spiritual realm the cultivator’s ever-expanding soul reshaped, or was it a construct made by the soul, a palace to house it. Nobody knew the answer, but Newt preferred to think everything within his realm was an expression of his uniqueness. With the spell formations he was arranging, he was making himself more complex, more adaptable, more himself.

“Newstar!” his mother’s voice wailed, and Newt ignored it.

I hope you are doing well, Mom.

After a moment’s pause, Newt turned around and went downhill to work on his next spell formation. It was a weird one, and he still was unsure why Dandelion had suggested it. A giant seal encompassing softness, flow, and flexibility. The problem was that the runic array was for earth.

How can earth be soft, flowing, and flexible?

Newt’s mind drifted to the scalding black sand he had seen when first stepping foot onto the Explorer’s Island. That sand was undoubtedly earth, but soft and flowing, and wonderfully hot to the touch, brimming with fire energy.

I could remake it here.

“Unfilial—”

Newt tuned out the scream, focused on the sandy beach. Instead of making the spell formation a tiny, oddly shaped hillock, I could change the material of the runes themselves. It should work.

Some instinct told Newt that not only would his solution work, but that it would be superior to his initial approach. Having the material’s nature match the rune’s purpose would promote its effect.

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Newt stopped and looked back at all the formations he had finished. He shuddered.

“I’ll probably have to redo most of them.” He shook his head despondently. “And I will need to scour the library for books about rocks.”

He reached the place where the ‘flow’ rune was supposed to go, and willed the rock to decompose into sand. The ground split with a loud crack, the rock crumbling into smaller chunks, then pebbles, then coarse sand. It kept disintegrating until its grain grew as fine as milled flour.

Newt observed his prototype. Deep down, he knew he had made something good; better than what he had planned, but he still had room for improvement.

How do I do that? How do I make it flow? The first natural thought that came to his mind was to make something like an hourglass. But such a construct was unnatural, at odds with the rest of his realm. Newt observed the wide open expanse, searching for movement, but other than wind and lava, nothing moved.

Newt ruffled the sand with his hand, but that was neither sufficient nor would solve the problem in the long run. I’ll figure it out later. This is enough of an achievement for now.

Newt then focused on another rune, then another, and another. Working on those whose concepts aligned with sand in some way.

The familiar chime sounded, and Newt left his realm. He opened his eyes, feeling his lips dry and cracked before realizing he was willing to pay a spirit gem for a cup of water.

“Come in,” he croaked, and a healer in white robe entered his room.

The orange-haired woman was merely in the second realm, focused on reading a scroll before looking up at Newt.

“Inner disciple Newstar, how do you feel?”

“Thirsty.”

The woman looked at him, then at a cup and a silver pitcher full of water within Newt’s reach.

Newt followed her gaze and poured himself a cup.

“Thank you, I was cultivating and lost track of time.”

“How do you feel now?”

Newt drained the cup. “Ahh, better.”

The healer rolled her eyes. “I was asking about your injury.”

“That’s better too.” A tiny part of Newt was amused, watching the orange-haired woman clench her teeth, before calming and once more speaking in a cool, professional tone.

“No lingering pain, discomfort, tightness of the chest, trouble breathing?”

She kept listing conditions, and Newt kept shaking his head.

“None of those.”

“Very well, today is the fifteenth. We kept you here two extra days for observation, but you seem healthy, and you are denying any signs of lingering trauma. You’re free to go as soon as you sign this.” She handed Newt a rough parchment and a charcoal stick.

“Sign here.” She pointed at a line at the bottom.

Newt did, glancing at the document he was signing as he wrote his full name above the thin line. In short, the Chamber of Healing’s Dulceta Sun deemed him healthy, and he confirmed her observation.

“You are not allowed to perform any strenuous activities for fifteen days, and no spars, or any other kind of activity in which you could potentially injure yourself for another fifteen days.” She looked Newt in the eye. “That means no fighting for thirty days, or you might be bedridden for a longer period. I don’t care about missions you have to fulfill, bets, friends you have to help, or anything else. Deviating from my orders might aggravate any hidden injuries, and any damage you suffer may compound on anything we might have missed. Is that clear?”

Newt nodded, wondering how old the woman was. Her manner of speech indicated quite a bit more than the early thirties her appearance suggested.

“Your master already knows this, and they will adjust your training accordingly. Any questions?”

How does the spell formation which kept me chained to the bed work?

Newt yearned to ask that question, but shook his head and left the room. He exited the Chamber of Healing, and drew a deep breath of the fresh jungle air, realizing belatedly that the air inside was suffused with sharp herbal scents.

What now? Newt just asked himself that question when he froze. The deep red color of her hair drew his gaze, then his eyes wandered to her perfect face and attractive figure. Newt could feel blood rushing through his neck, his face growing redder and redder.

He hoped her gaze would slip past him, but then he saw the light of recognition, and Elder Woodhopper’s lips drew into a light smile.

She approached at a leisurely pace, and Newt apparently moved down the earthen path, even though he was certain he was standing locked in place.

“I heard you hurt yourself. I’m glad you’re fine.”

Newt swallowed a lump, struggling not to lower his gaze. “Thank you, Elder Woodhopper.”

“How did you injure yourself in an energy gathering chamber, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Newt minded very much. He already felt like an idiot, and that question made him feel even dumber.

“I,” he started stuttering, “got sidetracked and thought about the technique I discussed with Master that day, and started trying it, and I messed up, and I… got hurt.”

Elder Woodhopper nodded, her beautiful features serious. “I’ve had students bitten nearly in half by beasts, and the Chamber of Healing released them faster than they let you out. Please take care of yourself, and remember we only have one life.”

Newt bobbed his head like a pecking yamaceratops, bade the elder a nervous goodbye, and hurried away. Elder Woodhopper just stood in the middle of the street and smirked as Newt scampered away.