It was unfortunate that before either the darkness came, or I found shelter, that instead a storm found me. Black rain, a monsoon drove the rain sideways, whipping the trees into a swaying dance all around me. The rain itself merely rolled off me, not particularly a bother, but the slick ground, and the wind-whipped trees slowed my progress.

“Once more the wood drains…” I murmured to myself, bumping into a tree again after hurrying between a gap between. It was tiring, draining, taking all my focus to not simply go in circles. Even the notches I had carved in trees were difficult to make out as the rain darkened the skies above, obscuring my vision even as the wind whipped leaves and other detritus into the air.

I could only be thankful that whatever beasts were in these woods elected to keep to themselves, hunkering down to shelter in the storm instead of prowling about to hunt or ambush me. Not that I didn’t make sure to avoid any low-dangling vines however, unsure of which were hidden serpents, and which were simply parasitic plants.

In my hurry to break through the jungle that surrounded me, I nearly stumbled into a sudden dip, a valley, where water was plunging down a steep hill, drawn to the lowest point. Surging rivers poured down the slopes, eroding the earth under my very feet. Already trees were seen toppling down the hill to rest against the valley’s side, or churned to a pulp at the bottom.

The rapid breakdown of the trees drew my eye first, and a brilliant flash of light and fire made them widen. Brief flashes of firelight kept flaring up over the lower part of the valley, lighting up a horrific tapestry below me. Ants, each the size of a cat, milling about in the thousands, some seeming to breathe flashes of fire into others, their showy techniques immolating and illuminating the other ants. They seemed to differ in breadth and length, but the stouter fellows seemed to simply be standing still, till I saw one breathing an arc of flame seemingly wink out entirely, gone.

I stared all the more, not daring to draw near, lingering at the precipice peak of the valley, Massive pinchers dug into the ground, summoning fissures and heaving waves of earth at the fiery ants. It was a pitched battle among the insects, who must’ve been driven from their homes by the flood. I could see large mounds, one blackened and baked, half-crumbled and flooded, the other seemingly of smooth battlements, equally eroded. The army of Earth ants swallowing up swathes of the Fire ants, who each alone milled in confusion in the wet, frenzied to take as many of their rivals with them as they could.

Trees, debris, insects, and beasts alike, all were churned in the messy war below. A fight for survival among desperation and terror. A war like most then, differing in strategies, but a war between cultivators of opposing forces. I was enraptured, watching for what felt like an hour, till slowly less and less flares of fiery light erupted to show me the battle. From that alone though, I was quick to pick up the inevitable results.

-

Skirting the edge of the valley, I wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, till I once more found myself on the beach, stumbling out onto sandy dunes and the heaving crash of waves. I dared not tempt the heavens by cursing them in a storm, but still I sighed with frustration. This past day had been such an unwelcome diversion from what should have been a celebration of my great triumph. Saving a commander, helping win a battle, becoming a full cultivator, and most of all, finally having the body that I had craved, wanted, and needed all my life. But now here I was marooned, and abandoned, reported dead, betrayed, and with nothing to my name but my self-same crafted body.

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And to be shown up in cultivation techniques by swarming ants, a maelstrom of power nestled into a valley full of insects, able to manifest their primitive vessels to wield destructive fires and bury their foes. I struggled instead to rip water from coconuts, to fight a crab, to shield myself from harm.

So I sat, on the crest of the dune, no idea where to go, no place to shelter, instead turning inward. If no place would shelter me, then I would make myself my fortress, my comfort, my rest. I started to cultivate, feeling the rapid flow of the heavens themselves as it rained upon me, scenting the myriad breezes as they playfully cavorted with the elements. Feeling how each breath drew in chi, and how each left some behind. I let the waters flow past my shroud, soaking into my robes to feel the harsh punishment on my skin, letting it swell the fabric, chafe my skin, and weigh me down. What gentle chidings water had if you let it, what light punishments it dealt you, unless you let it gather strength, unless you let it pool, build, and move rapidly together. Then instead of slow erosion, there was devastation, then instead of gentle nurturing and inconvenient dampness, there was instead no shelter left for you. Ripping out trees, carving new paths in the earth, buoyed by the heavens themselves to seep into every crack, crevice, and unsheltered surface.

I let it fill my vessel, I pushed it out again. The excess of the Chi, compatible with me, beckoning to me, clinging to me. I drew in the waters all around, filing my vessel to the point of straining, churning, swirling, overflowing, only to cast it out again. Banishing the water around me, making my shroud a visible effect in the dark rains. Flashes of distant lightning rumbling a warning as I swelled with strength. I let the water crash back onto me again, like I was merely a shore, a place for it to come to rest, to caress, to crash and swell and pool in sandy shallows.

Again I let it build build build to a swelling roar till I was aching, then all at once, leaving me in a surging bubble. Holding it there, letting only a trickle of chi now flow back into my vessel, instead letting my shroud ebb and flow with every breath, letting it swell up, pull back, with the crashing waves of the wind-whipped sea. I stalked forward down the dunes, approaching the dangerous surf, moving my body along with the motions. Once more a dance, once more with the rhythm of the sea, the sea. Beckoning, rolling, calming, swirling, crashing, carving, soaking, seeping. The water, the ocean all around, the rain falling down, I could feel it. I could feel it falling over me, all the waters that grew near, I could touch them, deny them, coax them alike.

I reached out to the waves, stepping into them, letting them crash all around me, but not touch, the sand dry beneath my feet, soft, crumbly. I stepped into the waters, and let them part around me, dancing with them, in and out of the surf, pulling the waters with me as I went. Stealing from one wave, gathering from the rain, my vessel churning, filling, emptying, over and over again. I let the waves and the water guide me, show me their path. Soon I had a wave of my own, a large crescent of water, catching the light of the low moon.

Darkness had found me in the end, but I had found my path, my Way, the crashing of the surf, a roaring symphony in my ears. I danced with the waters of the ocean, my own solace, my own home, coaxing a wave into a swirling maelstrom around me. It had taken uncounted hours, but now I had it, my own pool of power. A storm-gifted wave that I coaxed back and forth, up and down the beach, till it was crashing higher than my head.

I collapsed on the dry sand, the waters still churning and swirling all around me without ceasing. Never ceasing, never unmoving, even as my heart never stopped beating, and my lungs filled and emptied without pause. So too did the waters churn, roam, and play all around me, even as my eyes sunk closed and exhaustion overtook me.

It wasn’t quite rest, not quite meditation. Simply a place I went to in my mind as my body sunk into as much stillness as it could muster. The roar of the water was still present in my ears, the scent of the sea still filling my nostrils, the touch of the sand and water against my skin. But I knew it would never harm me here, I knew that these waters, they were mine, my Way, my path to power and salvation. They were what would carry me to the heavens and buoy me all the rest of my life.

The waters here were still shallow, enough to cover my feet, but spreading far beyond what I could see. I could still feel the outside world though, could still take in the sensations, could feel the swirl of water sheltering me on the beach, under the tide. I could feel the tug of the heavens trying to pull it away, and I could see it even here, water filling this place just a little more, only to be pulled away again. And so it would be, an ever-constant flow, tugging back and forth, never stilling, always moving, even when at rest. My Path would be a restless one, maybe meandering, maybe crashing, but always moving, even when seemingly at peace.