The Four Fundamentals I

Ronan led them deeper into the forest, past twisting branches and roots that seemed way too eager to trip someone. Eventually, the trees opened up into a wide clearing—sunlight spilling across a patch of flattened earth like nature had decided this was the place for something violent.

"This seems like a good place," Ronan said, pausing at the edge of the clearing, "We're going to train here."

Elion slowed beside him, eyes scanning the field. Jordan stepped forward, stretching his arms like they were about to start a casual morning workout. The silence here felt different. Not peaceful. Heavy. Like the trees were holding their breath. Or maybe waiting for someone to bleed.

Ronan turned to face them, arms crossed. His golden eyes narrowed. No smirk. No sarcastic comment. Just that rare, serious expression that usually meant one thing—something very painful was about to happen.

"This is where you find the line," he said. "The one that separates people who have a beast ring… from those who command it."

Elion and Jordan traded a look. Ronan loved to talk in riddles like this.

Ronan stepped forward. His cloak caught the breeze like it was trying to warn them one last time.

"Most Slayers back in the Beast World?" he continued. "They open Mana Gates. They get a beast ring. They think that's enough."

He gave them a long, pointed look. "It's not."

Elion's stomach twisted. Jordan's shoulders tensed like he wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or excited.

"But the Beast Slaying Arts?" Ronan's voice dropped just slightly. "They're what make someone a True Slayer. They're the reason the First Slayer could kill the ancient beasts—and forge the first ring from their corpses."

He let that hang for a second.

"They're not just flashy techniques," he paused again. "They're killing techniques."

Both Elion and Jordan shuddered at Ronan's words. It wasn't just what he said—it was how he said it. Calm. Final. The name 'Beast Slaying Arts' wasn't just a name. It was a warning. And now that they really thought about it… yeah, the name had never exactly screamed mercy.

Jordan squinted. "Wait… so you're saying most Slayers aren't real Slayers?"

Ronan's mouth curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "Not even close."

Then, without another word, he turned toward a large rock sitting at the edge of the clearing. He placed one hand on it—casually like he was just brushing off the dust.

"Watch closely."

A flick of his wrist.

CRACK.

The rock split clean down the middle. No punch. No weapon. Just pressure, precision, and, of course, power.

Elion flinched. Jordan let out a not-so-quiet curse.

Ronan turned back around like he'd just swatted a fly. "Beast Slaying Arts," he said as if that explained everything.

Elion stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on the broken stone. "Okay… but seriously. What was that?"

"Yeah," Jordan added. "Was that like… qi or something?"

Ronan blinked. "Qi?"

He tilted his head like he was trying to place the word.

"I don't know what you call it here. But this—" he raised his hand again, fingers relaxed, a faint shimmer of energy pulsing just beneath the skin "—this is aura."

He let the glow fade before adding, "This is how the First Slayer took down beasts no one else could. It's how he forged the first Beast Ring—from their corpses."

He said it plainly, like it wasn't the most insane thing they'd heard all week. Which, unfortunately… it probably wasn't.

"You said only some Slayers back in the Beast World learn this," Elion said, still eyeing the cracked stone like it might explode again. "Why?"

"Because most don't need to," Ronan replied. "Beast Rings give them enough power to feel invincible. So they never ask how the First Slayer survived without one."

Jordan scoffed. "Classic. Why train harder when you can just cheat?"

"Exactly," Ronan said, tone flat. "But here's the catch—this art? It's not something beasts or monsters can learn. Not even the ones who talk, strategize, or mimic us. This is human-only. Crafted for our limits. Sharpened by our desperation."

He let the silence hold for a beat.

"That's what makes it dangerous. And that's why you're going to learn it."

Elion's spine straightened. Jordan's grin was back.

Ronan stepped forward, drawing a rough circle in the dirt with his boot. "There are four fundamentals. Four anchors that every Slayer must master before they even think about crafting a real technique."

He held up a single finger.

"Pulse—The Awakening," he said. "It's the foundation. Drawing out your inner force—your aura—and circulating it through your body. Without it, you're just a sack of locked potential waiting to get wrecked."

A second finger joined the first.

"Veil—The Concealment. It suppresses your aura, lets you disappear even when you're standing right in front of your enemy. It's how you sneak, strike, or survive when running's not an option."

He raised a third finger.

"Fang—The Focus," Ronan said, with a sharp nod toward the shattered rock. "You saw this one already. Fang condenses aura into a single point—your fist, your blade, your voice, anything. That's how you turn motion into power."

Finally, he lifted a fourth finger.

"Guard—The Fortification. Channel your aura inward. Wrap it around your muscles, bones, and even your organs. It's how you block what should kill you. Or get back up after it does."

He dropped his hand.

"These are the Four Fundamentals. They're not flashy. They're not pretty. But they're the reason True Slayers don't just survive… they finish fights."

Elion swallowed hard. This wasn't some mystical philosophy. This was battle-ready. Practical. Dangerous. Jordan looked like he'd just been handed the keys to a secret dojo.

"And once you've mastered those?" Ronan added, a grin finally tugging at the corner of his mouth again. "Then we get to the fun part."

Elion raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

Ronan turned his back and started walking toward the center of the clearing. "Choosing your Path of Slayers."

He didn't explain what that meant. Which, obviously, meant it was going to be terrifying. And probably awesome.

"I like the sound of it," Jordan grinned before repeating the words, "Path of Slayers, huh?"

Ronan didn't say anything right away. He let the weight of the Four Fundamentals linger—long enough for it to sink in. Then, finally, he turned back to them, eyes sharp.

"You're not ready for the Paths yet."

Elion blinked. "Why?"

Ronan waved it off. "Doesn't matter. Not until you master the basics. Everyone wants to leap ahead to the cool stuff. Elemental bursts. Aura weapons. Slaying beasts with a flick of the wrist."

He pointed to the dirt beneath their feet. "But this? This is where you earn it."

Jordan exhaled. "Alright. So what's first?"

"Pulse," Ronan said. "The Awakening."

He started walking again, motioning for them to follow. At the center of the clearing, he stopped and tapped his boot against the earth. "Sit. Cross-legged. Spine straight. Breathe like you're not an idiot."

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "We're meditating?"

"You're aligning your inner force," Ronan corrected. "And if that sounds like some spiritual nonsense to you—good. That means you'll stop trying to punch your way through it."

Elion lowered himself to the ground without a word, settling into a seated position. Jordan followed—less gracefully, more like someone forced to sit still for detention.

Ronan stood over them like a strict, overly-armed monk.

"Inside you," he said, "is energy. It's been there since the day you were born. Every creature has it. But humans? We're uniquely bad at feeling it."

He walked a slow circle around them, voice even.

"Pulse is about making that energy move. You're going to reach inside yourself—not physically, obviously—and find the thread that connects your core to your limbs. Then you're going to pull it. Slowly. And keep pulling it. Until your whole body starts humming."

Jordan opened one eye. "That's it?"

"You're welcome to explode if you rush it," Ronan offered. "But yes. That's it. No shortcuts. No Beast Ring. No outside force. Just you and what you've been carrying this whole time."

Elion closed his eyes and drew a breath. It wasn't like channeling mana, which had always felt external—like borrowing something from the world. This… this was internal, like fishing in a lake inside his own chest.

Jordan squirmed beside him. "Do we get a spark? A tingle? Something?"

"You'll know it when it happens," Ronan said. "Your heartbeat will change. Your senses will shift. Your body will feel lighter—but heavier. Like something inside you is waking up for the first time."

He paused. "And then the real pain begins."

Jordan groaned. "Fantastic."

"Focus," Ronan said, his voice sharpening. "This isn't just warm-up yoga. You're trying to awaken the force that powers every Slayer's ability to survive. It's not supposed to be easy. It's supposed to change you."

Then he stepped back. And just like that, the training began. No countdown. No pep talk. Just silence, sweat, and the forest watching like a silent judge.

For the first time since this whole thing started… they weren't running.

They weren't fighting.

They were building.

From the inside out.

After a few seconds of silence, Jordan slowly raised his hand like he was back in a high school classroom.

Ronan arched an eyebrow. "What now?"

Jordan cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh… I'm still kinda confused about something. What's the difference between this aura stuff and mana? I mean… aren't they both just energy?"

Ronan crouched near the edge of the clearing and drew a circle in the dirt with his finger—simple, clean, and precise. "Yeah. I get it," he said, "it is somehow confusing, especially if your Wisdom is that low."

Elion wanted to laugh, but he knew it would be disrespectful since Jordan really wanted to learn about it.

Ronan stood, brushing his hands off, and turned to face them again.

"What you've been using until now is mana. The energy is pulled from the world. From nature. From the flow outside your body. It enters through your Mana Gates, powers your rings, and fuels your magic. Simple."

Elion and Jordan nodded. That much they already knew.

"But what you're doing doesn't come from out here." Ronan tapped his chest, just over his heart. "It comes from in here. From your own life force."

He let the words hang, letting the shift settle in.

"This isn't mana. This is aura—your inner force. And it's a completely different thing."

Elion's brow furrowed. "So… we have two types of energy?"

Ronan shrugged. "If you want to keep it simple, yeah. Think of mana as fuel from the environment. You collect it. You use it. But aura? Aura's your battery. Your core. It's always there, but most people never even notice it."

Jordan whistled low. "Okay. That's... kinda awesome."

"Don't get excited yet," Ronan said. "You haven't even learned Pulse. Without it, you can't use anything else. You're just a sack of potential waiting to get wrecked."

He walked to the center of the clearing and sat cross-legged on the bare earth. "This is how you begin."

Elion and Jordan hesitated for a beat—then followed. The ground was warm from the morning sun, dry but steady. No distractions. Just the wind, the trees, and Ronan's voice cutting through it.

"Close your eyes," he instructed. "Breathe in. Deep. Steady. Now let it go."

They did.

"Again."

Ronan's voice was calm now. Low. Measured. Like a lull before the storm.

"Feel for the rhythm beneath your skin. Not your heartbeat. Not your breath. Something else. Something deeper. A hum. A pressure. That's your inner force. That's your aura."

Elion's brows tightened as he sat, focusing. He thought of his mana at first—how it felt like a current in the air. But this wasn't like that. This was warmer. Closer. Like standing beside a fire, you didn't realize it was lit until you leaned in.

Jordan, for once, was silent.

"Once you find that thread," Ronan continued, "grab it. Not physically—mentally. Pull it. Circulate it. Through your arms, your chest, your legs. Don't force it. Guide it."

The silence stretched. Time became irrelevant. Then Elion's breath hitched—just slightly. There was a flicker inside him. Not mana. Not thought. Something alive.

Something his.

He didn't say anything, afraid to break the fragile connection. Jordan sat straighter, his eyes still closed, a thin bead of sweat on his temple. Ronan watched them both like a hawk.

No smirk.

Just quiet satisfaction.

Ronan's arms were crossed, but his posture had relaxed—not out of boredom, but focus. He watched Elion closely, his golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

There it was.

That flicker.

It was subtle but unmistakable—the shift in breath, the tiny change in posture, the faint shimmer beneath the skin that only someone trained in the Beast Slaying Arts could spot.

Elion found it.

Ronan didn't say it aloud. Didn't dare interrupt. But deep down, a thread of genuine surprise tugged at him.

'Minutes. He found it in minutes.'

When Ronan first learned Pulse, he'd spent nearly an hour just trying to sense the thread, let alone circulate it. His master had called it a "painful rite of passage." For most Slayers, it was. But Elion?

He was already in sync.

Ronan tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle with missing pieces. Not even Jordan, whose body practically screamed with physical power, had reached that state yet. But Elion—sharp, balanced, precise—had slipped into Pulse like it was a second skin.

Not normal.

Not even close.

"As expected of his lineage," Ronan muttered quietly, almost bitterly.

He didn't elaborate. Not even to himself. Because even in his mind, some names were better left unspoken. He shifted his attention, glancing at Jordan. Still struggling. Still searching. But trying.

Ronan gave a small nod. That was fine. Aura wasn't about talent—it was about will. And Jordan had plenty of that.

But Elion?

Elion was something else.

And that—depending on how things unfolded—was either going to save them all…

Or break everything.

Author's Note

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