It had taken him an hour before he felt calm enough to attempt another deep dive into his mind. It took him another hour to give up on replicating his previous experiences with deep states of focus. The next thing he knew he was riding the edge of his breath, and his mind grew evermore still.
Then he was somewhere else.
Hunter opened his eyes and found himself in a dark cave. An eerie blue glow surrounded him, exposing a ground with vines that seemed to cross the ground like veins.
Despite the darkness of the environment, he felt safe here. It was filthy, and he could hear strange insects chittering in the dark the caves unlit corners, watching him. But within the confines of this place, he knew he was in no danger.
The cave shook, and Hunter seemed to understand what it meant. He despaired, knowing that his sanctuary was about to be exposed to an unstoppable enemy.
Something tore open the top of the cave, revealing a beautiful but terrifying night sky lit by a billion stars and the silhouettes of many hulking figures. Their eyes were like planets, their fingers spanning the interstellar depths. Some were like wolves, some were like men, others like spiders. These great cosmic beasts considered him with a primal malevolence.
Hunter knew that this was the end of him. Before them, there was nowhere to run or hide. The beasts trapped him, and they were hungry.
They shook him out of his cage, and Hunter fell. There was no ground to catch him, so he fell further and further, faster and faster. The beasts chased him, howling. Hunter knew that in a moment, they would catch him, and he would know no more.
A sweet, humming voice met his ears, and his fall slowed. Light and warmth surrounded him for a second, but the beasts howled and the humming faded. He could still hear it, but its protection was gone.
But Hunter no longer fell.
His body was still, and he couldn't move. He watched the beasts stalk closer, and they melted together into one form. But it was a shifting form, never deciding on a final shape, yet it favoured the likeness of a wolf. Uncertain forms streamed behind it like smoke as it drifted towards him. The smoke evaporated in the shape of a thousand faces, contorting in agony. Vistas of flame and blood were born where the wolf stepped.
The despair grew deeper and deeper. His mind screamed, and yet his body could not escape. The beast approached. Hunter saw inexplicable hatred in its eyes, and his heart pounded in fear.
"You think a cave will hide you from me?" the dark god growled, its voice ripping through Hunter like barbed wire. Hunter wailed and sobbed, powerless to stop the pain. He lamented his foolish desire to be free of himself — his determination had brought him here to this nightmare that didn't end. It was a nightmare that felt more real than anything he'd ever experienced.
"Look at you, child," it said, circling his unmoving body, taking great pleasure in the waves of torment that assault him, "powerless."
The wolf's head was directly in front of him, staring him in the eyes.
"Say it," it whispered.
"I'm powerless," Hunter said, tears streaming from his face. He was too weak to fight back. He only wished for the pain to end, and he would do anything to hasten it.
"You've always been weak," the wolf said. "Such a fowl, pathetic creature."
Hunter tried to nod, but his muscles didn't seem to receive the signal.
"That's why your friends left you," the wolf whispered. "That's why everyone hated you. They knew you'd never be as strong as them."
Hunter had no more energy left for tears. The wolf was right. He remembered the looks on the faces of his friends as the display showed his results. He remembered how much it hurt, year after year, seeing everyone growing stronger, living their lives unburdened by the frailty which afflicted him.
"You deserve to be alone. Even your own father kept his distance, so embarrassed by his son that he was driven mad. He killed people to cure you of your disease, so that he wouldn't have to be the father of a cripple," the wolf laughed.
The beast was right.
Hunter had forgotten this feeling. He'd forgotten how much it hurt to be himself.
How had he forgotten?
He remembered that after his dad had died, all he could focus on was survival. After a while, he found it was easier not to think about it. Day after day, he strove to improve himself. To work harder, to know more, to be better. The more he worked, the further away the pain seemed.
Why was he fighting so hard?
Wasn't he just hiding from what he'd always known to be true?
Hunter could never be the person he wanted to be. His own body had stolen that possibility from him.
Then he scowled.
What a load of horseshit.
He laughed. All of his despair seemed ridiculous. He couldn't pinpoint the change, but now he saw his fear, guilt, and shame, the pain he'd long hidden, as if from afar. He still felt every shred, but it seemed like an unnecessary affliction. Why was he letting these emotions control him still?
The emotions coloured his perceptions, informed his beliefs and his thoughts, and therefore the actions he took. He'd built layers of assumptions around those beliefs, like an ecosystem of identity.
It was silly.
Why should he give the thinnest quivering sliver of a fuck about what others think of him? So, he's physically weak.
So, what?
In the last few months, others have pushed him harder than he ever thought possible. He faced challenges that most of the people who have ever judged, or mocked him, wouldn't be able to face, and every time Hunter emerged better. Despite how weak he was, he could get stronger.
He was better now than he'd ever been before. He was tougher, smarter, more ambitious, and he was pretty sure he was going to ask Tilda Burner to be his girlfriend.
Hunter had pride beating within his chest, but it was no longer the inflated pride of a child who searched desperately for a sense of wholeness. In fact, he'd never felt more confident and capable.
He understood what had been bothering him the last couple of days. He understood the panic that had gripped him that night.
This monster had no power over him. As soon as he realized that, he understood what this whole thing was. He knew what had been bothering him over the last couple of days. He understood the panic that had gripped him that night.
"I get it," he said, as his body was free to move. He stretched, savouring the newfound agency over his own movement.
The beast spoke accusingly. It chased and threatened and promised death. But wasn't that what fear did? If all of his negative emotions could take up a form and present itself to him, how it would it look? What would it say?
Would fear give him a hug and tell him that everything was alright? He laughed.
It was him. The beast, the giant scary wolf monster from the depths of the nightmare realms, was a manifestation of his own unprocessed feelings.
The beast roared, feeling threatened by Hunter's freedom. It lunged at him, trying to tear at him with its claws, but they melted as they got near him, dissipating into thin air.
The beast saw its claw disappear, and Hunter recognized the helplessness in its reaction. Its eyes widened, and it stared at Hunter, whimpering.
He felt tempted to mock the beast, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. As he studied the animal and looked into its giant eyes, he saw his memories reflected within them. Every one of them was a reminder of why he was alone, why he felt so bad to be who he was. His fear of the world, of being seen, of being known—all the reasons for it flooded back to him.
He saw himself being beaten by Pippen and taken hostage by terrorists in his memories. He saw memories of every rejection, every dismissal. As the memories flashed by, the beast whimpered once more and curled up on itself, but they shared the same mind. It could hide its face, but it was him.
The memories were playing in reverse. It felt less like a revelation, and more like a return. It was a remembrance.
He could no longer hide from himself.
His life continued to pass before his eyes.
As a child, he recalled the interrogation at the law enforcement branch, his father's accusations, and his refusal to listen. He remembered his father's funeral. Then he saw his father growing more distant. He saw himself being shunned for the first time and remembered the feelings of betrayal and confusion. He saw it all and knew that this was the heart of the beast. As the memories moved, the beast cowered and shivered like a frightened child.
Hunter saw his mother dying. He felt everything he'd felt as a very young boy, feelings he hadn't ever felt before. A sense of utter confusion had clouded his young mind — how could something so comforting and good disappear and never come back? It had changed something in him, effecting him on a deep level he couldn't have recognized consciously.
This had all been living inside of him, as him, since he was barely old enough to walk on his own. The more he saw the beast, the more he understood the frightening figure in front of him, the more the figure in front of him shifted. Soon, he saw a reflection of his younger self replace the morphing forms of the monster.
He was tall for his age. So thin that you'd think he might be malnourished. His posture was awkward, and he seemed lost. His eyes were searching for something, and he didn't even seem to realize it.
He heard the humming again, and his features were alight with joy. The young boy searched for the source of the comforting voice.
The humming grew to encompass them both. It swelled all around him and within him. It surged up in a feeling of elation, like Hunter had just discovered the most incredible treasure in the universe.
His mother appeared. He recognized her. She smiled at the youthful version of himself, picking him up. Hunter could feel the child's joy, having found what it had lost.
It was Hunter's own joy. He collapsed to his knees, tears streaming from his face. The surrounding nightmare dissipated, and he came back to reality, sitting on his sofa in Barnum.
Just like that, it was over. The vision of his mother was gone. He was aware of himself in his apartment. But it didn't matter.
He felt happy, he felt sad, and he felt a thousand things at once, more than he'd ever felt before.
Hunter finally remembered his mother's voice. Her face was no longer a vague recollection. The face he'd seen in that vision had been hers. It was so clear.
These focus exercises were no joke. His father had understated its effects.
It took him a few minutes before he felt like he was ready to move on from what had just happened to him. He felt like he'd just uncovered and confronted something fundamental to his handicap.
He remembered what his father had written about his theory regarding the origin of Hunter's deficiency. On a whim, he grabbed the small device on the side of the table and activated it.
It beeped, and he read the small display.
6.
"Yes!" Hunter said, jumping from the couch. He looked at the display again to make sure he hadn't misread.
It still said 6.
He hadn't even glimpsed of etherium channels, and his AR was already rising. But then he questioned if that was true. What if he had glimpsed his channels, but hadn't realized it at the time?
He felt like he was staring into the depths of something both beautiful and terrifying once his cave was exposed.
The fear came from the pain, from the monster inside of him. But what about the beauty?
Hunter was far too excited to sleep, so he made himself some coffee and continued exploring. After drinking the coffee and reviewing his father's notes again, he built up another state of deep focus.
The ease of it was like a hot knife cutting through butter. The focus came quick, and it was stronger than ever.
When he was ready, he picked up the small drawstone on the table and brought his attention to it. He noticed the sensation of the stone in his palm. There was a sensation of etherium within it, dissipating slowly. As he paid more attention to his hand, specifically to the skin, his attention flickered for a second. There had been a sound outside of the building. But as his attention moved away from his hand, there was a subtle sensation which disappeared, one which he hadn't even been aware of feeling.
He brought his attention back to his hand, and the sensation returned. He had trouble describing it, but it felt like something flowed from deep within him, focusing on his hand where the drawstone touched his skin.
It was like the flow was simultaneously within, yet beyond, his hand. Utterly free from the shell of the skin, yet free to act within it — but it wasn't outside of him. It was within his consciousness.
The more Hunter studied the feeling, the more he realized what the flowing feeling was.
He compared it to the etherium in the drawstone and realized that what he was feeling was what etherium felt like before a drawstone charged it. He hadn't even realized drawstones could alter or impart a charge. He studied the contrasting feelings. The more he studied, the more he realized the "neutral" etherium in the drawstone was more desirous than his own etherium.
The feeling was so vague, and it was difficult to keep his attention on it. Even though he knew it was there, he would suddenly forget about it and his attention would drift to his thoughts, or other sensations in his body. It was like forgetting the fact that you were breathing because it's such an sub-conscious process.
He soon stabilized his attention on this subtle feeling. He dropped the drawstone, and the flow he'd managed to feel continued for a split second before stopping.
That had to be it. Once the drawstone deactivated, he had felt the etherium as it was pulled into his body until his channels were full.
At last, he was finally able to begin practicing the Internal Arts. Although wanting to immediately resume, an honest self-assessment revealed his need for a break. Someday, a would practice all day, every day; however, he still needed to work up to it.
He vowed to overcome his weakness. Hunter would forge himself into something he could have only dreamed of. But first, he needed to get some sleep. Judging by his coffee consumption, he wouldn't wake up before midday tomorrow. He couldn't miss his session with Aera.