Rain drummed on the shrine's moss-caked roof as dusk settled into a starless night. Kayn Delacroix sat cross-legged beside the brazier, struggling to regulate his breath. A single lantern flickered on the wall, casting unsteady shadows that danced around him. Each time he inhaled, he felt the warmth in his chest expand—an ethereal pulse that shimmered against the edges of his consciousness.
Across from him, Damon picked through the meager supplies they'd scavenged from an old cabinet near the entrance. Two cracked bowls, a small pouch of what smelled like dried beans, and a chipped teapot made up the entirety of their finds. He let out a frustrated grunt. "Not much of a feast," he muttered, shaking the pouch to emphasize its paltry contents. "At least we have fire. Could be worse."
Kayn nodded absently, but his mind was elsewhere—on the Arc Seed. "Damon," he said, his voice low and gravelly from fatigue, "what do you know about cultivating these Seeds?"
Damon paused. He had pulled out a waterskin to fill the chipped teapot but now glanced at Kayn. "Cultivating Arc Seeds is standard in Erath Province, but only among the clans and sects that can afford good tutors," he replied. "Me, I only learned the basics from a traveling mercenary. Enough to strengthen my spear techniques, but I'm no master."
Kayn's gaze fell to Damon's broken spear propped against the wall. In the glow of the brazier, it looked pitiful—half a shaft with jagged splinters, its tip dulled. That this man had survived the Ironbone raid was a testament to either luck or a certain dogged tenacity. "Have you heard of Seeds that…bond too strongly?" Kayn asked, trying to phrase the question without revealing too much.
Damon frowned. "You mean Seeds that merge with your core? That can happen if the synergy's high enough, or if the cultivator forcibly fuses them. It's dangerous, though. Unstable Seeds can backlash—drive a person mad or destroy their meridians."
At that, Kayn grimaced. The sense of warmth he'd been feeling suddenly seemed less comforting and more ominous. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, radiating a subtle, dark energy he couldn't fully grasp. What if it's already fused too tightly? he wondered. A stray memory nudged him again: a passage from an ancient text describing how certain Seeds drank their host's life force, growing potent but putting the cultivator in constant peril.
Damon lit the teapot over the brazier. A soft hiss of steam escaped as the water heated. "I take it you're not from around here. You speak like someone who's studied these things, but you don't move like any trained cultivator I've seen."
Kayn gave a bitter laugh. "I suppose you could say I've studied them in…books." More like shadowy recollections from a different lifetime. "But that doesn't mean I have the practical skills. Not yet."
"Then let's hope you survive long enough to learn," Damon said simply. He rummaged in his coat pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled paper with lines of scribbled text. "Here—these are some notes I took from that mercenary I mentioned. They might help you grasp the basics of drawing out a Seed's power."
Kayn reached for the paper, curiosity glinting in his eyes. The note outlined a rudimentary cultivation exercise that involved visualizing the Seed as a rotating sphere of energy, channeling it along the body's meridian pathways. It was an incomplete method, obviously overshadowed by advanced clan techniques. Still, to Kayn, it was a precious stepping stone.
"Thank you," he said, solemn and sincere. He wasn't used to kindness in a world that already felt so hostile. Perhaps Damon was a decent sort, or maybe he sensed that helping Kayn could be mutually beneficial. Either way, Kayn mentally filed away the small debt he now owed.
A quiet settled between them, broken only by the crackling fire and the soft patter of rain. Kayn spread the paper on the floor, reading the instructions by lantern light. Slowly, he let his eyes close. His breathing came in measured draws—inhale for four beats, hold for two, exhale for four. As he settled into the pattern, he envisioned the Arc Seed within his chest, a dark but radiant ember.
At first, nothing happened. He focused, letting his mind drift through murky corridors of half-remembered knowledge. A single thread of sensation tugged at the edges of his awareness, like a faint light in the distance. There, he thought, honing in on that flicker. He imagined a thread of energy unraveling from the Seed, threading through his veins.
A jolt of cold electricity coursed through him. He clenched his teeth to stifle a groan. A rush of images battered his brain—faces he didn't fully recognize, dusty corridors lined with ancient texts, a swirl of star-studded skies…then everything collapsed into a dark void. For a moment, Kayn feared he would lose consciousness again.
But he held on. Slowly, the darkness retreated, leaving him with a heightened awareness of his body. He felt the rough stone beneath him and tasted the humidity in the shrine's stale air. More importantly, he sensed the Arc Seed's presence with crystal clarity. It was no longer some nebulous entity. It felt…responsive, as if it recognized his attempt to reach out.
When he opened his eyes, Damon was staring at him with undisguised curiosity. "That was quick. Did something happen?"
Kayn took a steadying breath. "I felt it. The Seed. It responded…briefly."
Damon nodded. "Good. That's the first step. You'll need a proper manual if you want to master it, but at least you're not locked out."
"Locked out?"
"Some Seeds go dormant in a host body," Damon explained. "They won't react at all. Makes the cultivator no better than a commoner. If yours already stirred, you're in luck."
Kayn processed that. He might not fully understand the intricacies yet, but the fact that his Seed was active gave him a surge of hope. He glanced over the scribbled notes again, hungry to practice more. "We should rest," Damon added, blowing on the teapot. "This area isn't safe for long. We'll move at first light."
"Rest," Kayn echoed, though his heart still pounded with newfound energy. He cast a wary glance at the shrine's door, half-expecting Ironbone scouts to burst in. But exhaustion weighed heavily on him, and he realized that any further cultivation attempts in his current state might do more harm than good.
They shared a silent, meager meal of watery bean soup—barely enough to quell hunger, but better than nothing. Kayn's eyes grew heavy, yet his mind refused to settle. He replayed the events of the day: waking in the courtyard, encountering Damon, nearly being discovered by Ironbone scouts. The world was cruel and uncertain. But I'm alive, he reminded himself. And I have this Seed.
Eventually, Damon set his makeshift bedding against the far wall, away from the door. Kayn did the same. Lying down on the cold stone floor, he pulled a threadbare blanket around his shoulders. Despite the meagerness of this refuge, it was better than sleeping in the open.
He closed his eyes. Drifting on the edge of consciousness, he let his attention return to the Arc Seed, cradling its warmth. Then, amid the pattering rain and the crackle of the dying fire, he slipped into a restless sleep.
*
*
*
Kayn Dreamed.
In his dream, he stood in an endless library. Shelves brimming with yellowed scrolls and leather-bound tomes rose toward a sky of swirling clouds. A formless whisper echoed in the distance, beckoning him deeper. He walked between the shelves, every footstep sending echoes that reverberated into shadowy corners.
A single book glowed with an otherworldly purple hue at the far end of an aisle. Kayn reached out, curiosity stirring. The cover was worn, its title indecipherable. When his fingertips brushed the tome, a searing jolt shot up his arm. He tried to yank his hand away, but it was stuck, as though an unseen force demanded he open it.
Pages flipped of their own accord, revealing sketches of Arc Seeds in all shapes and forms—seeds of fire, water, wind, and darkness. Then the images blurred, morphing into scenes of devastation: entire cities burning, monstrous creatures rampaging, cultivators locked in deadly battles. One moment, Kayn glimpsed a monstrous black serpent devouring armies; the next, he saw a tower of white flame scorching the sky. He felt fear and awe coil around his spine.
Suddenly, the purple glow intensified, blinding him. The dreamscape shattered.
Kayn jerked awake, heart pounding. The brazier's fire was reduced to embers, and the lantern flickered precariously, casting the shrine in near darkness. Damon was still asleep, his soft snores echoing in the gloom.
Kayn sat up, sweat beading on his forehead. The Arc Seed pulsed in his chest, as though echoing the frantic rhythm of his dream. His mind reeled. Was that a warning…or a prophecy?
He pressed a hand over where the Seed resided. He couldn't shake the feeling that the images he'd seen were more than random nightmares. Maybe this is what my memories are trying to tell me. That the pursuit of power—especially the unstable, hybrid potential hinted at by these Seeds—could unleash catastrophes beyond comprehension.
Lightning flared outside again, and in that brief glow, Kayn saw Damon's silhouette. His companion slept fitfully, brow creased. No one, it seemed, escaped the weight of this cruel realm, even in slumber.
Quietly, Kayn rose to his feet. The shrine felt claustrophobic, thick with the scent of damp stone and old incense. He wandered toward a small alcove behind the altar, discovering a dusty statue of an unknown deity with half its face chipped away. Leaning closer, he noticed ancient symbols scrawled around its base, faint from centuries of neglect.
He couldn't read them, but they tugged at his consciousness—a hint of meaning he couldn't quite decipher. So much to learn, he thought, an odd mixture of excitement and dread welling inside him. If he wanted to stand a chance in Erath Province—no, if he wanted to thrive—he would need more knowledge, better resources, and stronger cultivation methods.
A slight creak made him freeze. Spinning around, he found Damon standing behind him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Couldn't rest?" Damon asked quietly.
Kayn shrugged. "Bad dream."
Damon looked at the statue. "Yeah, that old thing. Who knows what gods people prayed to before the clans took over these lands." He sighed, stepping closer. "You're worried about what comes next, aren't you?"
Kayn nodded. "Nothing is certain. The Ironbone Clan could be anywhere, and beyond them, there are sure to be even greater threats. I can't afford to be weak."
Damon studied him for a moment, then placed a hand on Kayn's shoulder. "In this world, if you want to survive, you must grow stronger. If you want to prevail, you'll have to do more than that. Erath Province is small compared to the broader realm. We're just specks in the grand scheme of things."
Kayn met his gaze, a spark of resolve crystallizing in his eyes. "Then I'll rise until I'm no longer a speck."
They lingered by the statue, a silent pact forming in the hush of the shrine. Outside, the rain began to lessen, hinting that dawn might come soon. The embers in the brazier glowed faintly, matching the inner fire blazing in Kayn's chest.
I will master this Seed, he vowed inwardly. And I will carve my place in this world—even if it means walking a path stained by blood and betrayal.