Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS
That morning, Han had found himself unable to sleep. Ultimately, he gave up on returning to slumber, his anxiety and restlessness growing too strong to bear. Making an effort not to wake any of his martial brothers who slumbered nearby, he tip-toed his way to the bathroom, washing his face with water.
Glancing into the mirror, he saw the face of a boy who was scared he would ruin his opportunity. He worried that he ultimately lacked the talent, and would always be trapped within the bounds of mortality.
Today was finally the day he would receive the chance to become something more, and a little voice in the back of his mind would not stop whispering worries into his head.
He breathed deeply in and out, splashing more water on his face.
“Are you alright?” came a voice from behind him.
Han whirled, nearly letting out a yelp of surprise. Blake was standing there, his skeletal form looking intimidating in the dim light. He slowly released his breath, composure returning. He gave the other boy an awkward smile.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. I just found it hard to sleep because I’m a bit worried.”
“There’s no need to be. You’ve made it this far, after all. It’s not a matter of if you can acquire miasma or not. Merely whether or not you can survive afterwards.”
Han’s smile froze, becoming even more awkward.
“Haha… thanks?”
His voice trailed off at the end of his word, unsure whether or not the odd boy was trying to console him or not. During their time together Han felt he had grown close to all of the Sect Leader’s disciples with the sole exception of Blake. The boy simply quietly and politely refused their attempts to spend time with him, and ultimately they had allowed it to happen. This reason, combined with his inexpressive nature, made him difficult for Han to read.
“You’re welcome,” said Blake, walking over to another of the sinks.
The two of them fell back into silence as Han found himself unable to think of a proper response. Somehow, though, Blake’s words had calmed him down somewhat. Still, he didn’t feel he would be able to return to sleep. He quickly dressed and made his way to the training room, hoping to calm down with a light workout.
After finishing his workout, cleaning himself, and dressing in unsoiled clothes, Han made his way to the meditation room, where their master had asked them to meet him. He was still anxious, and found himself arriving an entire hour before they were due to arrive. To his surprise, he was not the first to show up.
“Why are you here,” he asked Qian, who was seated on the floor of the hallway. “Were you nervous?”
She glared up at him.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
He laughed as he sat down next to her.
“Didn’t I just say?”
Qian didn’t reply, and the two spent several minutes together in silence.
“Nothing will be the same after today,” she said. “There won’t be any going back.”
“I feel like we passed that point back when we first joined.”
“Mmm.” agreed Qian, quietly. “Hey, Han?”
She looked over to him, and in the dim glow of the lights she seemed small and vulnerable, so different from her usual self.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Do you ever feel like you’ll never see the people you left behind?”
He considered the question for a moment.
“Sometimes I get the feeling that this place is changing us. Perhaps the proper term is refining… but I think that’s just what it means to be a martial artist. You can’t move forward if you’re scared to change who you are.”
“I always wanted to change. To step out, to become greater than the neighborhood we lived in. But now that I’m here…”
“Once we become proper martial artists and are allowed to leave, let’s go visit your family,” he said. “I’d like to see them again, myself. We can make fun of Tai for failing the examination again.”
She smiled softly.
“I’d like that.”
All Han could think about was how different Qian seemed compared to her usual self. It was making him feel somewhat awkward. He couldn’t help but think about it, to the point where only when the others began to arrive did he realize that he had forgotten about the advancement entirely.
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Ten minutes after all of the disciples had lined up outside the door, it opened from the inside, revealing their master, starting Han. Had the Sect Leader really been inside the whole time? Luckily, the room was soundproofed, so he doubted that he heard their conversation, but he certainly would have been able to sense their presence. Han couldn’t help but wear an awkward smile. Luckily, the Riverfiend did not address the matter. His eyes merely passed over his disciples, and then silently entered back into the meditation room. Han and the others followed behind him, moving to their usual positions.
“What will be tested today,” said their master, moving immediately into a lecture, “is not your ability to receive miasma, but your ability to control it. A major factor of inferior foundation arts is that the practitioner is not properly prepared to receive it. Success will make you something more than mortal- a true martial artist. Failure will mean death or the crippling of your dantians.”
His master’s words did little to soothe Han’s worry, which had started to creep back in now that they were here.
“I will help you do this one at a time. This will help me minimize the chance for error.”
Left unsaid was how great an honor it was to receive such personal assistance from a spirit refiner. Such were the advantages they had acquired from their position. It was likely that none of the other disciples would have such an opportunity, unless Vice-Sect Leader Rachel decided to take her own personal disciples.
“I wish to go first,” blurted out Han, to his own surprise. His nerves had gotten the better of him. His desire to advance and his fear of it had coalesced and taken hold of him.
The Riverfiend gave him a side eye and chuckled. It was still strange for Han to see this side of the man, but it humanized him, turning him from a triumphant and enigmatic character to a real man, a mentor.
“First, I’ll need you all to thoroughly stretch your bodies to ensure you are ready and will not make any mistakes due to your mortal frailty.”
Han blushed, and made no response, merely going about the forms as directed. He had exercised earlier, but still was careful to stretch out his body again, wary of the risks that being just slightly too tense could cause him. Several minutes later, they were all finally ready.
“Come here,” said the Riverfiend, glancing at Han. Filled with anticipation, Han moved without thinking, standing directly before him. “You have trained the forms for weeks now. You should have learned their movements by heart. When you begin, you must stretch out your senses. You must unlock a sense which you have never used before.”
“Yes, Master.”
His master nodded.
“This method works better in my homeland, but this room has been modified to suit my own needs, and it should work for this as well. You may begin. Remember to restrain yourself. This is not a time to be tense.”
Under the watchful eyes of his master and his fellow disciples, Han began practicing the forms. He indeed did know them by rote, and he made an effort to loosen his muscles, trying to keep the movements as smooth as possible. Meanwhile, he practiced the meditation trick his master had taught him- to imagine himself resting under the rainstorm, all of his senses focused on the droplets which fell around him.
Suddenly, he felt the cold moisture of a drop of water falling upon him. As if he was taking a cold shower, the droplets continued to fall, causing him to feel a slight pressure across his body. So this was rain, he thought. He focused on the droplets, how they fell around him and on him, the sound that they made when they tapped against the floorboards.
Under the cool rain, Han continued to practice the forms. The motions were slow at times and fast at others, but at all times the flow between each movement was maintained. There was no suddenness, it was as if the movements followed the course of a path laid out- one imperceptible to the senses. Han followed the path laid out, not realizing his movements shifting imperceptibly beyond the basic forms, the flow shifting slightly as if to match.
He felt something, he realized. It was as if there was an ocean flowing around and through him, directing his motion.
“So this is…” he muttered. “So this is formless miasma.”
His movements continued. In fact, it was as if he was entirely unable to stop. He felt a deep pressure from the ocean, as if at any moment it would engulf him.
“Feel the power, and continue your motions. You must siphon it into you like water from a well. Be slow and careful. We are not practicing flickering arts, after all. If you pause or rush, you could lose control.”
Han released a breath, and did as he was told. His movements continued, the forms he had been taught now left behind entirely to follow the natural expressions of the currents from another realm. He felt a burning sensation inside him, as if his dantians had begun to heat up. It was painful, but he did not cease. To pause midway through would be to risk his life. He trusted in his master’s words, and continued, and felt the energies continue to siphon inside of himself.
The rain continued to beat upon him, seemingly synchronized with the beating of his heart and the coursing of the miasma as it flowed into and around him. For a moment he wondered what other miasmas would feel like upon first contact. But the thought quickly fled his mind due to the intensity of his focus. The energies continued to course into him, slowly growing in speed as he matched with the sea, growing closer and closer to its-”
“Stop,” ordered his master, and Han obeyed, his instinct to listen to his master’s instruction surpassing his instinct to match himself to the currents.
His body froze, motion ceased entirely. Suddenly, as if a dam had burst, energies coursed even faster through him, and Han found himself invigorated, but kept himself still regardless. The energies within him had separated from the flow of the ocean current, and a current formed within himself. It was a twisted, haphazard flow, but energies cycled their way between the three dantians.
His movements stilled, Han found himself standing there as the rain continued to pound. His heart was racing, and he could still feel the energy inside him, as well as a vague sense of masses where his martial siblings and master were standing.
His eyes flicked first to Qian, a triumphant smile crossing his face. She was right, things had changed. His dantians were like globes of water, releasing slight pressure through him. He was finally something greater than mortal- a true martial artist who had stepped onto his path.
“Congratulations,” said the Riverfiend. “You have succeeded.”
Han couldn’t help but beam. When he entered the sect, when he became the Sect Leader’s disciple, both of these events had been very impactful to him, but this… more than anything, Han couldn’t help but feel the change. It excited him beyond belief.
Ashatic Currents: [The movement of ashatic currents through the Brink have been a matter of extensive scholarly study, and there have even been theories correlating this to the structure and location of celestial bodies within Telles, or perhaps to an unknown field interacting with the esoteric substance. One recent theory by a renowned Celan researcher contains the hypothesis that this flow is caused by micro scale lesions which are too small to be normally detected, and which are perhaps at fault for the strange differences between physics at the quantum and macro scales. What is known is that these flows can be found everywhere, within the Brink, and can be disrupted by contact with souls, lesions and ashatic constructs. Such flows can even be entirely diverted by the efforts of ascendants.]