Night settled over the Verdant Moon Sect, casting the grounds into shadowed silence. The darkness brought a reverent stillness, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional creak of old wood. Cain slipped out of the novices' quarters, his steps cautious as he moved through the shadows, heading toward the edge of the Deadwood.
He'd chosen this spot carefully, near the forest's edge where the elders rarely ventured, making it a sanctuary of sorts for those willing to seek out the sect's darker mysteries. The Deadwood loomed before him, its twisted branches stretching into the darkness, casting thick shadows that seemed to shift and watch him. The rumors of spirits haunting the forest's depths were unsettling, but he couldn't ignore the strange pull he felt—a faint, instinctual sense that something lay within, waiting.
Settling beneath a gnarled tree with roots twisting out like claws, Cain crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees. The cool earth beneath him was damp, grounding him as he steadied his breathing, letting his eyes fall closed. Tonight, he would reach beyond the basics he'd studied, seeking a connection with Qi that was his own, free from the sect's teachings. If Qi truly flowed through this world, he needed to feel it, to understand it.
For a long time, there was only silence. Cain's breathing steadied, his mind slowly emptying as he focused, reaching out with his awareness. But Qi did not respond easily. Its presence was faint, just at the edge of his senses, like a shadow that slipped through his grasp whenever he tried to hold it.
Frustration simmered beneath his focus. On Earth, energy could be measured, directed, and contained—its behavior predictable, governed by laws. But here, Qi defied every instinct, slipping beyond his reach. He felt his mind tense, grasping for control, as if he could somehow force it to respond. Yet the more he tried, the more it seemed to resist, pushing back like a living force.
With a breath of resignation, Cain loosened his mental grip, allowing himself to drift. The scrolls had spoken of "alignment," of letting Qi flow naturally. It felt like surrender—a concept he'd never trusted—but now, in the still darkness, he allowed his mind to open fully, releasing his need for control.
Gradually, he began to feel it—a faint warmth, almost imperceptible, like the glow of a dying ember. It pulsed gently, a whisper of energy that drifted through him, filling him with a sensation that felt… alive. Cain's breath caught as he focused on it, his thoughts stilling, his every instinct quieting. The warmth spread through him in a slow, tingling rush, awakening his senses.
Then, suddenly, the warmth shifted. The energy grew colder, seeping into his bones with a chill that spread through his veins. It was subtle at first, then sharper, more intense, until it settled at the back of his mind like a faint ache. His temples throbbed, the pressure building as if Qi itself were pushing him back, resisting his attempt to connect.
A metallic taste filled his mouth, sharp and faintly bitter, accompanied by a ringing in his ears. The sensations were alien, unsettling, yet there was something intoxicating about them. His body tensed as the pressure mounted, his muscles aching under the strain, until he was forced to pull back. As he broke his focus, the energy faded, leaving him feeling drained, as though he'd wrestled with a force far more powerful than he'd realized.
Cain opened his eyes, breathing shallow. He could still feel the echo of Qi, a ghostly trace lingering in his veins, both thrilling and unnerving. He'd touched only the surface of this power, but it was enough to confirm its reality. This wasn't a resource to be manipulated casually—it was a force that required respect.
His gaze drifted into the shadows of the Deadwood, where the trees seemed to stretch out like silent sentinels. There, just beyond the tree line, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He squinted, trying to make out the form, but it vanished, melting back into the darkness. A chill prickled along his spine, his instincts flaring with a sense of foreboding. He wasn't alone.
He sat in silence, his mind racing through the possibilities. Had someone followed him, or was he being watched by something else? The sect was filled with secrets, and it was entirely possible that others sought the Deadwood's mysteries, much as he did.
Then, from the shadows, a whisper floated toward him—barely audible, laced with a distant, almost musical quality. The sound was soft, a faint echo that twisted in the air like a melody only half-remembered, its tone both inviting and vaguely menacing.
"Come closer…"
Cain's pulse quickened, his body instinctively tensing. The voice felt like a presence, an unseen force calling to him, urging him toward the forest's depths. He found himself leaning forward, compelled by an impulse he couldn't fully understand, his curiosity clashing with the instinct to stay back. Every rational thought warned him against heeding the call, yet a part of him felt drawn to it, intrigued by the promise of power.
The urge to step closer, to push beyond the boundary, surged within him before he forced himself to stop, his grip tightening on the damp earth. He wasn't ready to face whatever lay beyond. Not yet. For now, his goal was understanding, not recklessness. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something within the Deadwood had taken notice of him, that he had crossed an invisible line he hadn't meant to.
Slowly, Cain rose from his meditative position, his mind buzzing from the experience. The connection he'd felt had been brief, but it was a start. Now he understood that Qi was real, a force as tangible as it was volatile. He'd tasted its potential, but also its dangers, and he knew it would take more than mere ambition to harness it.
As he turned back toward the novice quarters, he felt a lingering sensation at the back of his mind, like a soft hum that echoed faintly. The whisper and the flickering movement haunted him, a reminder that his presence in the Deadwood had not gone unnoticed. A part of him wanted to return, to see what would happen if he answered the forest's call. But he knew he had to be cautious, to prepare before facing whatever lay within.
The chill still lingered in his bones as he made his way back to his quarters, his steps slow and deliberate. The experience had left him drained but sharpened, his purpose clearer. He would need to refine his technique, build his strength before he could attempt another connection. The path ahead was one of patience, of slow, deliberate progress.
Yet as he neared the novices' quarters, he felt a faint, insistent pull—a nagging sensation at the back of his mind, urging him to return, to press further, to uncover whatever secrets the Deadwood held. The forest's call lingered, a soft, haunting whisper that promised power but demanded sacrifice.
Lying down, Cain allowed his mind to drift, the echoes of the whisper still present, as though it were woven into his thoughts. The sect's grounds were filled with eyes and ears, watchers who sought to maintain control. But he sensed there was something beyond their reach, a force that lay outside the boundaries they enforced.
Tomorrow, he would return to the library. There had to be more within those scrolls—clues he had missed in his impatience. His next step would be measured, deliberate, but he would press forward, inching closer to the knowledge he sought. The Deadwood had shown him a glimpse, a faint promise of what lay hidden. And though he would bide his time, he knew he would one day answer its call.
The forest waited, a shadowed realm that whispered to him, and Cain could feel its presence settling into his bones, its secrets drawing him forward. For now, he would prepare, learn, and observe. But soon, he would return to the forest, ready to confront whatever lay within.
One day, he would uncover Veilara's true power.