(Ch. 13) Whispers in the Stone

For the next ten days, I returned to the cavern beneath the mountain each morning before sunrise. The chill air never quite left the chamber, and yet I grew to find comfort in it. The stillness. The quiet. The presence.

Each session before the basin deepened my control, little by little. The ember had become a thread, and I was learning to weave it. To feel where it tangled. Where it flowed. I wasn't forming new meridians yet—not truly—but the qi was listening.

Sometimes, when I meditated long enough, I would see flashes again in the water.

The tree of black bark.

A woman in robes older than our sect's colors, hands raised in a gesture of balance.

A great sword buried in stone.

I did not know if they were memories, visions, or illusions. But they lingered, etched into my thoughts like soft carvings.

One morning, Elder Sun joined me. He did not speak until I opened my eyes.

"You are not the first to be shown the sword," he said.

I looked at him, heart slow, breath even. "What is it?"

"A symbol. Of what you may one day claim. Or fail to. Not all visions are promises."

He rose, robes trailing faint wisps of qi. "But it listens to you, and that matters. There may be something dormant in you. Something tied to the mountain."

When he left, I remained seated for a long while, staring into the basin. The image of the sword stayed with me even after the water stilled.

Later that day, So-Yeon challenged me to a mock mission. "If you're training like a hermit, we may as well see what you've learned."

Dan laughed. "Finally. Let's give the 'blossom' a storm to bloom in."

We set off into the woods north of the sect, where wild boars and worse sometimes roamed too close to the outer boundaries. Elder Sun approved it—barely—and gave us a talisman to signal if real danger arose.

For hours we tracked quietly, moving through brush and thickets. It was the first time I'd left the training grounds in weeks.

Then we found the boars—or rather, they found us.

The first came crashing from the underbrush, tusks flashing, eyes red with rage. So-Yeon was already moving, blades drawn.

Dan met the second one with a roar and a heavy swing of his hammer. I moved instinctively, body low, sword angled to parry the third beast.

I didn't think. I didn't force.

I breathed.

The qi threaded into my arms and legs—not a surge, not a flood, but enough. I moved smoother than I had before, blade shifting just before the beast reached me. I guided its momentum past me, then struck with precision.

It fell.

Panting, I turned to see So-Yeon landing on the back of hers, a clean slice across the neck. Dan had pinned his with sheer weight and leverage, hammer rising one last time.

When it was done, we stood in silence, catching our breath.

So-Yeon looked at me, a grin tugging at her lip. "You're not the same man who stumbled by the river a few months ago."

Dan nodded. "Still big. But sharper now."

I felt the ember pulse again in quiet acknowledgment. I wasn't yet strong. But I was no longer just enduring the current—I had begun to shape it.

That night, back at the fire, I stared at the stars. The vision of the sword came back again. Closer. Clearer.

Stone by stone, the path continued. And I would follow it.