Learning to Steal

"Kid," the old Qi Scholar snarled, slamming an ancient, creased scroll down between them on the stone surface. "It's a day for learning how to steal."

Vaen raised an eyebrow. "Steal?"

The old man smiled and stabbed at the scroll with one of his long, stained fingers. "Not money. But creatures and spirits. From the heavens themselves, if you're capable enough. That's what we knowledge cultivators are here to do."

Vaen unrolled the scroll. There were two diagrams on it: one of a huge demonic snake with fire-breathing lungs, and another of a body, meridians sketched in fine gold.

"This art," said the old man, "is called Infernal Breath. A technique only for the Flamecoil Vyrma. Giant fire serpents of the Ashflow Ridge. The ability to breathe flame hot enough to incinerate heaven grade objects. Usually, only those born into their blood can use it."

He stopped and leaned to one side. "See I said 'usually.'"

Vaen's interest was piqued. "You're saying a human is capable of this?

"With enough awareness of Qi structure, Yes!" The old man stood up, his robes catching on the dry floor. "That was the blessing of human flexibility. We don't need beast blood or spiritual bones in order to learn what others speak of as exclusive. We just have to understand how it works, then replicate it for our bodies. But, for now only Knowledge Cultivators."

He pointed to the humanoid illustration. "The Flamecoil Vyrma draws on an innate spiral meridian near its lungs. Humans don't have that. But if you direct the flow of Qi back from the dantian and narrow it near the collarbone, then burst it out through an armored pipe in the throat, you can create the same effect."

Vaen drew nearer. "Wouldn't that cause internal backlash?"

"Oh, sure enough." The old man flashed a toothy grin. "If you screw it up, you'll incinerate your own lungs. Maybe vaporize them. Not a nice way to end up."

Vaen frowned, thinking about how precise Qi flow needed to be. Especially when it was converted from Tenebris Energy. Of course, he wasn't going to mention that. The old man might be sharp, but he hadn't seen through Vaen's real nature yet. He just knew something felt off.

"Still," the scholar continued, "you're not exactly normal, are you?"

Vaen looked up, careful not to react.

The old man squinted. "There's something strange in your Qi. It's like there's a second current underlying everything. Dark and heavy. But not malevolent. Just. foreign. Never experienced anything like that."

He rubbed his beard. "Not that I mind. I've had students with half-demonic heritage and spirit mutations. I don't care what you are. If you're willing to learn, then I'll teach."

Vaen nodded slowly. "So what do we do?"

"We start small." The old man pointed to the vacant space outside of the cave. "Do the fire flow imitation. No flame, but only the Qi formation. Feel it flowing, building pressure, compressing. Then release it before your lungs explode."

Vaen stepped out, the wind biting on his skin as he began to breathe slowly. He worked inward, pushing his transformed Origin Qi down the new path, from the center, curling toward the lungs.

The rush hit. A searing thrust bubbled up in his chest.

Too fast.

He chopped fiercely, dropping to one knee.

"Good," said the old man behind him, utterly unruffled. "Means you're doing it incorrectly but trying correctly."

Vaen frowned. "That's not comforting."

"Did I promise to be comforting?"

He tried again. Slower. He could feel the familiar buzzing of Tenebris Energy deep in his gut—not enough to trigger, but there. He strained the Qi, eased it with whatever Origin insight he'd gained.

Then, pressure.

Not yet heat, but close. A shivering warmth engulfed his throat.

He exhaled and a very slight plume of steam curled from his lips.

Vaen blinked. "Huh." 

The old man clapped once. "Progress."

Vaen crossed his arms over his chest, breathing heavy. "You said we could copy any racial artwork?"

"Just about," replied the scholar. "Some are harder than others, like Voidwalkers' spatial techniques or Whiteclaw tribe's bone-manipulation arts. But with enough knowledge and redirected circulation, we can come darned close."

Vaen rubbed his jaw. "So, as long as I understand the mechanics…"

"Rob the world blind," finished the old man. "And that's why knowledge cultivation is so feared. We don't respect bloodlines. We copy, we adapt, we surpass."

He folded his arms and studied Vaen with pinched eyes. "I don't know what you're hiding, but I do know you're no run-of-the-mill brat. Whatever's inside you, see that you don't choke on it."

Vaen remained still.

Because he didn't have to.

But he felt it coming. And now he knew:

It could be done.

---

That night, Vaen sat in his cave, training in silence.

He had undone the pressure three more times, exhausting his Tenebris Energy reserves. His body complained, but with each attempt, the pressure was easier. The technique was not yet complete, but he had already started to redefine it on his own terms.

No Flamecoil blood coursed through his veins.

Just grit, recollection, and something dark that lurked in the background.

He would be that kind of farmer who didn't require a legacy to use his power.

Only knowledge.

And if the world dared to call it theft?

So be it.