The morning light filtered through Cain's window, casting pale shadows that seemed to ripple across the floor. Cain sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his head as a faint, pulsing ache throbbed just behind his eyes. Every sense felt sharpened, every sound amplified, and a restless, almost predatory urge lingered in his mind—a remnant of the creature's essence he had absorbed the previous night.
The Eclipse Devouring Art had proven its potency, giving him a surge of Qi, a heightened awareness, and an intensity he'd never felt before. Yet, he could feel the cost. His Qi channels pulsed unevenly, as if straining to adjust to the foreign energy. His skin tingled, and each breath felt sharp, carrying an undertone of the forest scents he had smelled while absorbing the essence—a trace of something wild lingering within him, refusing to settle.
He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing, but the effects wouldn't fade. His thoughts felt split, fragments of memories he didn't recognize flickering across his mind. He saw the dense trees, the feeling of fear, and the instinct to flee—a flash of the creature's final moments echoing within him. He clenched his fists, frustration mounting. If he couldn't control these side effects, he'd be vulnerable, exposed in a world where weakness invited disaster.
As the hours dragged on, the pain dulled but settled into a constant throb, and a faint dizziness crept over him. Reluctantly, Cain realized he couldn't avoid seeking help. The healer's touch might reveal traces of what he had done, but if he continued like this, he risked exposing himself even more.
Cain rose, his steps unsteady, and made his way to the sect's infirmary, hoping that the healer would only see a fatigued disciple pushing himself too hard.
---
The infirmary was quiet, a cool, dimly lit space with beds lining the walls and shelves filled with herbs and potions. The air was rich with the scent of medicinal plants, calming yet laced with a faint sharpness that made his pulse quicken. The scents were overwhelming, almost metallic, and Cain had to force himself to breathe evenly. A healer sat at a low table, meticulously grinding a dark root with a small mortar and pestle.
"Disciple," the healer said without looking up, his tone even, but his voice held a faint note of surprise. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."
Cain approached cautiously, masking his discomfort with a feigned calm. "I've… been training hard," he said, forcing a slight smile. "I pushed myself, maybe more than I should have."
The healer set his tools down and looked up, his gaze sharp, appraising. His eyes lingered on Cain for a moment too long, as if sensing something amiss. "Training is good," he replied, "but recklessness leaves marks."
Cain held his breath as the healer gestured for him to sit. He complied, settling onto the bench and steadying his gaze, keeping his expression blank. His pulse quickened as he watched the healer's movements, anticipating the feel of his probing Qi.
The healer placed his hand on Cain's wrist, his Qi flowing gently into Cain's channels, testing the flow of energy within him. Almost immediately, Cain felt a pressure along his veins, as if the healer's Qi were prodding at wounds, catching on something lodged within him. His fingers twitched involuntarily, and he forced himself to remain still, though his skin prickled under the healer's touch.
"This…," the healer murmured, voice tinged with surprise, "your Qi channels… they're strained. And there's… something unusual here."
Cain's stomach tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm, willing his heartbeat to slow. "I… I've been trying to train harder, pushing past my limits," he said, his voice steady, though his mind raced. "Is there something wrong?"
The healer's gaze sharpened, and he withdrew his hand, but his eyes remained fixed on Cain, a crease forming between his brows. "There are signs of external influence in your Qi channels," he said slowly, his tone almost questioning. "It's faint, almost as if you've absorbed… an unfamiliar essence. But it's not from another disciple or instructor."
A brief silence stretched between them. Cain's mind raced for an answer that wouldn't reveal too much.
"I found a way to gather essence from the environment," Cain said, letting his voice carry a hint of pride. "It was a minor technique I read about in the archives."
The healer's gaze didn't waver. He looked at Cain with a mixture of curiosity and caution, his lips pressed into a thin line. "A minor technique," he repeated, his tone neutral, yet laden with an unspoken question. "Be cautious, then. Absorbing external Qi can destabilize your channels, especially if it isn't fully compatible with your own."
Cain nodded, but the tension in the healer's gaze remained. He could sense that the healer wasn't fully convinced. The faint glint in the man's eyes suggested that he was calculating, thinking through possibilities. Cain realized he would need to tread carefully.
"I've seen similar imbalances before," the healer continued, his voice low, "often when disciples attempt methods outside their level or pursue… unconventional paths. The sect teaches discipline, not shortcuts." His gaze sharpened, his tone carrying a warning. "Too much ambition can harm more than it helps."
Cain forced himself to meet the healer's gaze, a mask of calm over his face. He couldn't let any hint of doubt or defensiveness slip through. "I understand," he replied, his voice firm. "I'll be more careful."
The healer studied him for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "See that you do. There are those who seek quick power in this sect, and they don't often last. The path to mastery is long, and pushing it beyond its natural limits… can lead to irreversible damage."
Cain stood, offering a shallow bow of gratitude. "Thank you for the guidance. I won't forget it."
But as he turned to leave, he felt the healer's gaze on him, lingering, calculating, as if he could sense the secrets Cain held beneath the surface. Cain walked slowly, his steps measured, but his mind churned. It was clear now that his power came with a cost—not only in pain and mental strain but in scrutiny. He was beginning to understand that every choice he made would need to be calculated if he wanted to walk this path undetected.
---
Back in his quarters, Cain sank onto his bed, feeling the weight of the healer's words settle heavily over him. He ran a hand over his wrist, where the healer had pressed his fingers, still feeling a faint pulse of residual energy. The healer's warning was clear: those who pursued power without restraint were eventually discovered, either by their peers or by their own unraveling.
Cain closed his eyes, feeling the lingering discomfort in his Qi channels. It was as if something foreign, something wild, remained within him—a trace of the creature's essence he had absorbed. The echo of its instinctual fear and desperation seemed to pulse within him, a reminder that he was toying with forces that were only partly his own.
As he lay in the stillness, a prickle of unease settled over him, as though unseen eyes were watching from the shadows of his quarters. He looked around, half-expecting to see someone, but the room remained empty. Still, the feeling lingered, a persistent paranoia that made him want to double-check every shadow.
A faint shadow of doubt crept into his mind, a question that had been buried beneath his ambition: Was this path sustainable? Could he truly master an art that consumed pieces of his soul, bit by bit?
But as quickly as the thought emerged, he dismissed it. Doubt was weakness, a luxury he couldn't afford. The healer's warning only strengthened his resolve to continue, albeit with greater caution. His journey demanded secrecy, but it also demanded strength—the strength to endure, to adapt, and to overcome the suspicions of those who would stand in his way.
He lay back, his mind already calculating his next moves. Perhaps he would need to vary his techniques, avoid drawing attention to any one path of progress. He could return to the library, seek out lesser-known texts, or find secluded spots where he could practice without the risk of observation.
Yet, even as he made his plans, the faint ache in his Qi channels persisted, a quiet reminder of the price he had already begun to pay. Each pulse carried a whisper of the creature's essence, its memory entwined with his own, an inescapable presence that he would have to master—or be mastered by.
For now, he would rest. Tomorrow, he would continue. And one day, he would ascend.