Growing up, learning from peers and teachers alike, I had often heard of chi called "wind." For that is it's name, that is it's purpose, kept in motion to breathe life into all it caresses. That is why all those who learned to harness it, to stretch a sail out and let it pull them forward, they started with their breath. They began with how they sustained their very life. I've heard in other places it is not so keenly named. Outsiders have called it mana, magic, the elves merely seemed to exert it to make their point. It touches all, but not everyone can guide it. Just as everyone breathes, but not everyone can properly guide a kite in the wind.

Some view Chi as a living thing, a named being, one named Qi... Myself, my ears have never quite heard the difference, and I've never met this creature made of energy, this spirit that encompasses all...If they are correct, then it is either a strangle fickle being full of itself...Or we are simply living in it's belly, and it is full of us. All of us born boys were taught the basics of self-defense, more in the interest of letting us learn how to take a hit when finally our peers started to pull away from us in ability and power. Fewer yet of us mastered the breathing exercises and the first gathering of chi into our vessel. Some seemed only to keep it in themselves for a breath indeed, brief surges of power, a gasping realization of potential. It was in those early days though, that I discovered that it did not feel like breath to me, not air, but that instead I felt a clay vase, filled with a dripping energy, sloshing through my bones and slipping from my grasp. Others too soon chattered about their own strange feelings in regard to the energy, some a burning source of power and vigor, others a steadfast surety of their connection to the earth itself, some of the tendrils of a root and more that drew those ones together, and even a few rare souls who found themselves more sure than ever their purpose; their stance, rigid metal aligning their will and body into an sturdy frame.

Those like me though, felt not the need to chatter about the feeling, and while we drew together in understanding, we just as quickly slipped away to our own devices. I found myself often moving from place to place, oft stirring in the motion left behind by other chi practitioners, beckoned by the wind or Qi themselves perhaps. Other times I was called on to be a cooler head and soothe the burns those who practiced fire often left behind. I was often found relaxing among those steadfast in the earth, or lingering in the community of those who cultivated in wood together. Always flowing, sometimes pooling with those of metal, though rarely for long. Those relationships seem to erode over time, though earth and metal alike always seemed to try to keep me around.

In my ever-burgeoning style of fighting as well, I did not choose the hard strikes or solid grapples to learn as others did. No certain defense or blazing attack, no capturing containment, or powerful holds. I elected for a soft style in my teachings, wearing down my opponents, dampening their ferocity, and eventually their spirits. Using as little motion as possible as force met give, as strike met a falling back, as a grip was slipped away from instead of contested. My endurance, my flexibility of body and mind were both trained up far more than others. Where they struck sand or trees or wood to build up the solidity of their bones, I was taught not to strike water, but to carve through it. I did not take up the Dao, the Spear, the Jian, or the Bow alone as my weapon. Instead I was trained in the basics of them all, how to choose the right tool for the occasion, and more importantly, how to take it away from others, to reduce the damage to my own self. We were all being trained for the Emperor's war at that point, a conquest over the land, to retake the coast from the invaders, to seize their ships, their island fortresses, and finally to drive them back across the sea. I was told I was born there, in a small port town, but my parents had fled as the first traders to land brought terrible disease and rude behavior. Then they brought demands, weapons, soldiers, and finally...war.

There was yet another thing that pressed on my mind and heart however. One that made me strive all the harder for the first step from martial artist into true wielder of chi. Not for the might of manifesting your element, not for the power and glory and wealth that stood to be gained, nor even for the serving of the Glorious Emperor may he be praised. No...I drew away often from my peers, from my elders, from even my family, for though born of Yang...Yin nestled deeply inside of me. Even as I truly came to feel the flow of Chi within my body, as I grew refined in ability and filled to the brim with power, I knew my vessel had yet to burst into it's true form. One remade in the energies and aspects of one's soul, the body of a cultivator, their avatar on their path to their own Way. And so I worked to fill my vessel with chi, not caring if I had to come hold to a scowling father, drenched in water, shivering and numb. Not caring if I had to slip away from cavorting with those eager to share their energies with one another. Ambivalent to the pressures to do anything but become a soldier on the path of the Way. For that was the only career afforded to those who chose Cultivation, the only allowable use for power in their own hands, to serve the Emperor, to fill the ranks in his war.

-

She was beautiful, though not in the way favored by nobles of court. She was breathtakingly swift, leaping from the bow of her ship into battle. Piercing through the throat of my Commander’s horse, her second blade, a twin, buried into the upper thigh, slipped under his armor. Despite his constitution, I knew his battle would be one of survival, already crippled as he was thrown, sending my unit into confusion. None of us here yet were of sufficient strength to fully manifest our elements, though our bodies were tempered by them, fortified and enhanced with their sensibilities. Fiery rage was the first reaction of one who was not staring aghast, in shock and confusion as our commanding officer was toppled in a moment, bleeding to death on the ground. He swung his Dao in a mighty arc, a practiced motion, drawing it from his side in a powerful swift swing. She merely seemed to lean on it though, one hand simply diverting it’s path, extinguishing his gusto, as her other hand brought the butterfly blade up into his armpit. And so another moment passed, and another comrade died. I then finally found myself in motion, at some point I had drawn and nocked an arrow, but had to pause as a rigid spear thrust forward, seeking to capitalize on what it assumed was a mistake. But the woman still had the fiery cultivator cradled in her arms, and shoved him bodily into the eager spear. Both faces crumpled in surprise, panic, and disbelief as she simply stepped around them, looking for her next target. The moment I chose however was the one where the metal cultivator murdered his friend by drawing back the spear, completing the internal slashing of vital organs, and thrust once more in a rapid straight line towards her lungs. One blade shoved the spear aside, her body tilted low as she brought the other up to slash at his unguarded wrist. Her blade had met flesh, just as my arrow found her hip bone. A shallow wound, but one that elicited it’s own pained cry. My companion now left clutching his left wrist with his right, slowly bleeding out like the others, and the woman ducking low behind him to shield herself from another arrow. I imagine the pain must’ve been excruciating, the dragging of metal tip, scraping against the bone. I examined her corpse later, and saw the marks the arrow made as she moved. Fascinating if decidedly painful. Having seen her twice now deal with my companions in rapid counterattacks, I simply waited. I held the others back from rushing her with the blade of my jian, now drawn. I knew like the ones she had wounded and not killed, she too was now on borrowed time. Every heartbeat a little more of her lifeblood fading, a little more pain seeping into her mind, overwhelming her strategy. Other warriors drew the attention of my comrades, who surged forth to mete out battle and punishment, but my focus was on her. The beautiful warrior, one whom I felt a kinship with, in the way she fought, in the graceful form I envied.

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I kept low as I slowly approached her, the swelling roar of battle and the crash of the sea on the sand building all around us. I did not raise my blade to meet the dagger, stepping aside, and catching the following needle with the flat of my sword instead. Battle and survival, that too had a flow to it, losing that which is precious, gaining experience and skill. One thing too, that drew all of us on the precipice of surging over the peak, was the Kill. There were some who trained in a way to circumvent the need for the Kill, who swore that there was a higher path of pacifism. Most however were slain, no power there to save them from speaking against the Way of the Glorious Emperor. That too was what brought me here, to the peak of martial prowess, to the forefront of battle. To Kill, and take into me the energies of another like myself, like her.

She was pale, despite her sun-kissed skin, red slickness and now the heavy body of a metal-attuned cultivator pinning her down. Her legs shook as I stood over her, shin-plate of leather and wood catching the first blade as she swung it, and my Jian catching her other. From her position on the ground, it was harder for her to move, harder for her to build momentum or avoid my blows. There was no pride in this, no straightforward battle for an understanding to be reached through our blows. There was gratitude however, bowing to her over the blade in her throat, kneeling to cradle her head in the bloodied sands. I stroked her hair, closing my own eyes and banishing the sounds and sights around us from my mind.

I felt her energies dripping out of her, her vessel weakened to shattering, and so I reached out, adding one more drop to her overworn vessel. A drop of my own chi, a minor healing talent, one I had used to stabilize the spearman at our feet, and keep our commander from finishing his descent into darkness. That though was all it took to shatter her vessel, as I churned a whirlpool out of my own. Drawing in not the ambient energies always around us, not from others dying beyond my reach, or even from the clash of Masters in the distance who were vying for supremacy. No, I drew from her. The beautiful warrior, this well-trained maiden of despair who had nearly set forth the destruction of all my fellow soldiers. But this was perfect, leaderless, our troop scattered and beleaguered…I drew in everything, her qi, her yin, her yang, the very balance of all she had accomplished. I took it, made it my own, churned it in the whirlpool of my vessel, suffused it into my soul, and ascended.

I would be remiss to call it the first true step, for the metaphor doesn’t hold up. There are many steps on the path, learning, breathing, the ability to fight, the opportunity to Kill, and so forth. No, but for me this was always the final step, the goal, and I was drowning in it, drowning in her, drowning in myself. A whirlpool of water, fresh and oceanic alike swelled around our bodies. My own growing distant, farther away boiling, roiling, and washed away like so much seafoam. There was a momentary panic as I wondered if I had died, but then I saw myself…As I always had, as I always was in my mind and soul. The reason I often forgot the distance between myself and objects, the reason I avoided mirrors and hid from my reflection in the waters.

I was myself once more, panting for breath, coughing up water and blood, adrift in my uniform, and looking down at my hands, smaller, more demure. I cut away some of the now-excess cloth to bind myself above, before readjusting my garbs to better suit me. Robes thankfully were something we were allowed as cultivators, though my armor had to be discarded so it did not weigh me down. I quickly purloined my own badge of rank and identity tokens from the sands, the thrill of success dampened by my sudden shift and vulnerability. I would need to grow accustomed to my body, and I was in the middle of a battlefield. Even as I was trying to puzzle out the future of how I would explain, the present realities came crashing down in a hail of arrows. I scrambled in the sands, my sword lost in the waves and surge of water from my own ascension. I found myself trying to take too long of steps, crawling now on shorter limbs. My weight redistributed, my hips forcing me to balance in a new way. I’d be useless with a blade or spear till I understood myself more. Even then though, my new body showed it’s value. An arrow grazed my leg, the metal tip seeking to cut through my unguarded flesh, but instead there was only a slight hiss of pain and splash of water as it slid smoothly past. My energies dipped even as the discomfort fled, and I knew my watery Shroud now protected me. My vessel though churned nearly empty in the moment, the size of hers and mine now put together, but nearly-emptied with the energies spent in remaking…Me. A True Cultivator, made of the Qi of this world, in the aspect of my soul and my Way.

-

Finally I found myself at the top of the dune where I’d left my bow. It was strange now in a smaller body, but the drawing motion and the technique carried itself with me. My arms weren’t as long, the draw not as powerful, but I knew once my status was known, I would be allowed weapons to suit it, ones I could fill with my Chi. And so I spent the rest of the battle around the edges of the battlefield, searching for fights I could turn with a single arrow, keeping low and out of sight where I could, stepping out on high to release a blow where I must. I stumbled often in my traverses, but I never fully lost my balance, simply gliding along the sand and finding new ways to use my more flexible body to right itself. I gathered the arrows of the other fallen, sending soldier after soldier to the sands, to the waters. I saw another moving towards my still-fallen commander, and loosed not one, but three arrows in rapid order. I marveled for a moment at the new speeds in which I could move, but cursed in the next when I was out of arrows to deal with the next scavenger eager for their own Kill.

I surged forward, feat striking the sand like monsoon rains, scooping up a bundle of arrows, and ending the enemy’s ambitions in a flurry of movement. I saw my commander’s eyes widen as I took a knee beside him, bow ready, but arrow in my other hand. I simply nodded to him, and he released a shuddering breath. “Chariya…You…” Then there was a crash overhead, a massive boulder heaving through the flames of the enemy’s Admiral. A firestorm blazing in the sky as our Master ended his Way. I threw myself over the Commander, shielding him from the heat of it, feeling the steam wash over me and the air rush heavenward. Such was the impact of the ending of a Way. Those in the forests soon had to flee as fires crackled in the branches overhead, and our enemy’s fleet was soon ablaze. Oiled sails and hardened wood creaking and roaring as the screams of men burned alive echoed across the waters. Many splashes and desperate cries were heard, many a soldier would find their Kill in those shallow waters this day. As the shallows were filled with the desperate and wounded though, I realized…We were soon to be surrounded.