Tora Aran Kei, the Sect leader of the Shadow Tiger Sect, breathed through the strain. The low aura of the drainage basin was suffocating his cycling techniques, but, at least, the pain helped him focus his anger away from Cytan. They were finally nearing their destination, and that fact was the only stitch holding together Aran’s fraying patience.
Even in the low aura environment, he could sense the many heartbeats in the airship. Aran’s senses were accosted by the clamor of bodies. He folded a layer of darkness around him like a cocoon, but it barely helped. He could still sense them. He hated being so close to people. The feeling of being trapped close to so many cultivators was unsettling for him, to a point where he couldn’t fully sleep. There was no knowing who would stab him in the back when he was vulnerable. Even if the disciples couldn't hope to threaten him at their cultivation level, there were many ways to hurt someone stronger than you if honor and pride were not an issue. Aran would need to remain vigilant. Though he would never admit it, especially to his insufferable counselor, the lack of rest was draining on more than just his nerves.
When the ship finally stuttered to a stop at the site of the anomaly, Aran wasted no time. They arrived in the dead of night. The sky was dark after the moon’s departure from the night sky, but he did not care. There was nothing to be scared of in these woods. Most of the ship was still asleep, but a few disciples accompanied him off the ship along with his ever present advisor.
As his padded slippers touched the sodden earth, Aran could feel the last of his hope dissipating. To call this a forest was a stretch. The trees were sickly and thin, their leaves shriveled and waxen. The space was eerily quiet and devoid of life.
“So this is it?” Aran asked incredulously.
Cytan walked forward, hands in his sleeves. “Yes, this is the location my brother identified.”
Aran let out a slow hiss. “You expect me to believe that this place produced a spirit treasure to set off your brother’s scanner from thousands of Li away?!” Aran threw out his hands as he glared at Cytan. “This?!”
Cytan had shame enough to look a little chagrined. “I’ll admit, I don’t sense anything--”
“Exactly, you don’t sense anything, because there’s nothing here to sense!” Aran spat. Cytan’s brother had reported a strong natural spirit treasure. Its sheer strength pointed towards one possibility. An awakening of an earth nature core.
While it was hard to think of the earth, a forest, or a river as an entity. These places had veins of qi flowing through them. The world's energy suffuses them as it does humans. In rare instances, under the right conditions, these meandering veins of qi can coalesce to create a pseudo system, a sentience nature spirit that produces its own unique core. A core created from the amalgamation of parts both living and nonliving.
The creation of a nature core was as valuable as it was rare. Its uses were endless. It was priceless in artificing, healing, and most importantly for Aran, cultivation. Aran glared grimly at the mossy ground. The act of creation should have left its mark even if the core had migrated elsewhere in the years since the energy signature was noticed, and that mark was notably missing here.
Cytan sighed, shaking his head. “In my brother’s defense, he never said it was the energy of an awakening.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to work at defending your brother. He’s not the one that insisted this trip would be worthwhile.” Aran jabbed a finger hard into Cytan’s chest, but the man didn’t flinch.
Cytan lowered himself in a bow, apologizing profusely, but Aran didn’t stay to hear it. He was so damn tired. All he wanted was to be back in civilized lands. In the safety of his artifact guarded fortress.
He allowed Cytan to disperse the disciples in a tight grid to search the area, but he knew they would find nothing. If he could not sense it with his feet planted firmly at the source, the core likely never existed to begin with. Whatever energy tripped Yong’s censors was long gone, unless this whole thing was just a ploy for that craven Yong family to waste his time. Knowing Cytan, that seemed likely.
Aran stopped midway up the ship’s boarding ramp at Cytan’s grating voice.
“Fear not, all might not be lost. We still have the potential disciples to recruit.”
Aran’s head pounded as it often did these days. This trip was proving to himself once and for all that his cultivation was unstable. His body was straining under his new advancement, made all the more apparent by the lack of qi in the environment. The last thing he wanted was to watch a bunch of farmers play at cultivation. Even so, he knew they were below quota this year for incoming recruits. He clenched his teeth until he felt his jaws creak.
“You,” he pointed at a short cultivator he’d never bother to learn the name of, “wake the village elder. We’re going to the village now.”
“Now? Uh, but it’s late Sect Leader.”
A sharp crack like thunder startled the few birds from their perches. The short cultivator dropped like dead weight at Aran’s feet, breathing, but barely. It was a lucky thing he was in the Third Realm, any lower and his brains would be splattered against the ship’s metal hull. Aran had not bothered to check his cultivation level when he struck the disciple. It was what the moron deserved for his condescension. As though the Sect Leader didn’t know the damn time!
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“You,” he pointed at the shocked disciple standing next to the fallen man. “Wake the Sect Leader, we leave now. The disciple only bowed in response before running to do his bidding, his pace hastened by a step technique.
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Xin woke with a jolt. His body was tense with fear and nerves. He didn't know what woke him, but he had not been sleeping well for weeks. As he trained for the Sect’s arrival, the feeling of wrongness gripped him. Despite YiHua’s insistence that it was in his head, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Something important.
Xin strained his senses outwards searching for what woke him. His senses caught on something at the edge of the village. It was still too far for him to discern clearly, but it felt foreign and immense. He donned his robes and went to the next room to wake YiHua. He didn't make a noise, but her eyes sprang open in alarm when he entered.
“What’s happening?” Her voice was still gravely with sleep, but her eyes were alert.
“I’m not sure, I sensed something strong coming towards us.”
YiHua let her head drop back in her cot. “Yeah, Xin, the Sect, they’ve been coming towards us for weeks,” she groaned.
“No, I mean they’re in the village, coming towards us now.”
YiHua jerked up at that. Her eyes glassy as she verified Xin’s senses. Needing no further prodding, she dressed, grabbing her training staff on her way outside. The dormitory housing the JaLong students was on the far side of the compound against a tall bluff, far from the village entrance. The rooms were silent. Other than YiHua and Xin, none of the other students stirred. With the festival and exhibitions planned for tomorrow, they all wanted to be well rested.
As they made their way to the front of the school, they ran into a disheveled Master Lan. His graying hair stuff up in unruly tufts and his robes were wrinkled and unevenly secured. Xin had never seen the man less than immaculately groomed, and the sight only served to heighten his anxiety.
“What’s going on Master Lan?” Xin asked.
Before Lan could answer, the sound of thudding footfalls reached them. From the sound, there were at least a dozen people and the speed of their approach was astonishing. Xin looked up at the black sky. It was still many hours from sunrise. He pulled out a long blade from his blade in anticipation of their arrival.
“Tsk. Put that away you dolt,” Master Lan hissed. “Don’t you sense them?”
Xin lowered his stance, but didn’t sheath his blade. He opened his spiritual sight completely. The world blazed with unseen colors and textures. He focused, trying to parse out the approaching forms amidst a world of new sensations. A foreboding wave of darkness was approaching the courtyard in vaguely humanoid forms. The darkness was not the black of night, but the true form of dark, a total lack of light. Cold and slimy. His heart skipped a beat and his mouth grew bone dry. Before he could give voice to his thoughts, YiHua gasped beside him. He turned to find her face ashen.
“The shadow,” she breathed out in a barely audible whisper.
Xin's grip on the blade slackened. There was a sharp clack as it hit the ground. The sound was like a loud gong in the stifling silence. Master Lan shot him a scathing look. Xin picked up his weapon with reddening cheeks. He could feel his hands shake slightly as he sheathed the blade.
YiHua gripped his forearm, steadying him. Xin met her deep round eyes and breathed out shakily. He could do this. The sheer number and strength of them was staggering. These cultivators were stronger than Master Lan, stronger than the Master Elder. Xin couldn't even fathom by how much. Their spirits felt imposing and impossibly heavy even from a distance.
"Get on your knees children. Remember your lessons," Master Lan said. His voice trembled despite his effort to appear unaffected. Xin and YiHua dropped to their knees. YiHua's hands were still tightly gripped on Xin's forearm, and he couldn't tell who needed the support more. He could see faint movement in a distant courtyard and he lowered his eyes, determined to follow all of the lessons he'd ever heard about decorum.
Xin could barely breathe now, the shadow aura was so dense, so suffocating. He desperately wanted to look. To see the cultivators surrounding them now in a half circle. To see and understand their strength. All of his fathers stories rang through him, and Xin could see his father had never exaggerated. The villagers were mere ants to cultivators like these, and so was Xin. He kept his head lowered lest he gets stomped by accident.
They waited on their knees for what seemed an eternity but must have been only a few minutes. The wait was broken with a soft thud followed by a muffled groan. Xin recognized the voice and the spirit. He risked a glance up. Master Elder was crouched on his hands and knees covered in a sheer layer of sweat. He slowly pushed off the dirt ground of the courtyard, brushing his hands on his dirtied robes. Xin could tell he was trying to maintain a breathing technique, but his breaths were too quick and shallow to be efficient.
The sight of the most respected and oldest man in the village tossed unceremoniously on the ground like a ragdoll was a shock to everything Xin had ever known. He felt a flicker of annoyance bubble up inside him at the disrespect shown to an elder, but he quickly smothered the thought. The hot red burning of shame, though, was harder to quelch. Never had he felt so helpless.
Master Elder Fu Zuang’s face flushed from their rough handling. He glanced hesitantly at Master Lan, his mouth opening to speak. No words came. Instead his jaw clamped down with a click and he looked back at the sect disciples. At first, Xin thought he was glaring at them for their rough treatment, but Zuang’s eyes were wide, his chin tucked in deference. Zuang was looking for permission to speak. “Well, get on with it. The sect leader is eager to be on his way.” Xin did not lift his head enough to see who spoke, but he sounded young.
The Master Elder cleared his throat uneasily.
“Master Lan, wake the students. Sect Leader Tora would like to see the exhibition now.” Master Elder’s tone was overly congenial, but his voice broke at the last word.
Master Lan stood unsteadily. “But, what about the festival? The feast? We have nothing ready, we need more time to gather the villagers,” he protested in a hushed whisper.
The Master Elder broke out in a sweat, glancing uneasily at the waiting disciples. He shuffled forward, gripping Lan’s arm so hard that he hissed in pain. “Now, means now Lan.”
Even from his vantage on the ground, Xin could see the look of abject terror on Master Zuang’s face.