To Die from Whispers - Chapter 14: The First Step to Power

Wuhlou paced restlessly across the small, dimly lit room, his footsteps echoing faintly against the cold stone floor. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and the subtle hum of protective formations etched into the walls. His mind churned with frustration, ambition pressing down on him like a weight he couldn't shed. "I need power," he muttered, his voice tight, edged with impatience.

Whispers' ethereal voice resonated within his mind, calm yet firm. "There are no shortcuts in these steps. Breaking through a bottleneck is one thing, but you don't even have a foundation. Continue cultivating between lessons. The sooner you establish it, the faster we can obtain missions that earn usable resources."

Wuhlou stopped pacing, his fists clenching until his knuckles whitened. "I know you're right," he said aloud, his tone softening as he wrestled with his restlessness. "But it's hard to wait when I see what's possible —when I feel how far I still have to go."

"You've seen the consequences of rushing," Whispers replied, a gentle rebuke in his words. "Those cultivators who force their way through stages without preparation —they cripple themselves, or worse. You've got the drive, Wuhlou, but you need patience to match it. Power built on a shaky foundation crumbles."

He nodded, exhaling slowly. "I hear you. It's just… every day I spend building this foundation feels like a day I'm not closing the gap between me and them."

"Then let's make every day count, vengeance is best served on the unsuspecting. Train harder." Whispers said, its tone shifting to encouragement. "You've already started. The runs, the climbing —it's all part of it. Tell me, how did you feel this morning after your run?"

Wuhlou paused, considering. "Stronger," he admitted. "Not just in my legs but my breathing, my focus. It's like the air itself is starting to feel… alive, like I can sense something within it."

"That's the beginning," Whispers said, a note of pride creeping into it's hollowed voice. "You're attuning to the ambient Qi. Keep pushing and soon you'll feel it in every fiber of your being but for now, rest --tomorrow will test you further."

The image of the glossy blue bell flickered briefly in his mind before fading, leaving Wuhlou alone with his thoughts. Power needs to come naturally to avoid backlash or sudden death, he reminded himself, seeking resolve. These are things I need to understand. He sat on the floor, closed his eyes to meditate and let the faint hum of the formations guide his breathing.

In the pre-dawn stillness, long before the pale light crossed it's threshhold, Wuhlou ran through the twilight hours. The rhythmic tap of his feet against the dirt road broke the silence, audible even from a distance. Sergeant Foris's military training had ignited a fire within him, and he was determined to see results. Though only a few months had passed since he began, his stamina had noticeably improved. By the third month, he barely registered the effort needed in his run, his breath steady and legs stronger than ever.

As he ran, he spoke to Whispers in his mind regularly. "You were right about the air. It's not just stamina. I can feel Qi shifting inside me, like my body's waking up."

"Good," Whispers replied. "That's your meridians starting to open, even if just a crack. Describe it to me. What does it feel like?" The question was a strange one, given it's source.

"It's… warm," Wuhlou said, his thoughts forming as his feet pounded the earth. "Like a thread of heat running from my chest to my limbs. It's faint, but it's there. Sometimes it stings, like I'm stretching something that's been asleep too long."

"That's the Qi flowing," Whispers explained. "Your body's not used to it yet, so it resists. Keep running, keep cultivating. The sting will fade as your meridians take shape. What else do you notice?"

Wuhlou focused, his senses sharpening. "The ground —it's not just dirt anymore. I can feel the course of it all, like it's breathing gently. Is that normal?"

Whispers chuckled softly. "Normal for someone who's paying attention. The world is alive with energy Wuhlou. You're starting to hear its voice. By the time you're done with these training sessions, you'll be ready for the next step."

Wuhlou knew a few days remained before the next training session but his mind was always asking questions, unable to read, he was not taken seriously on the campus. Having attended just two classes each day to take up more of his free time, he used the interim to push himself, testing the limits of his body and mind. The academy grounds were often silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a nightbird still haunting it's favorite roost. It was in these quiet moments that Wuhlou felt most at peace, his mind clear and focused.

"Do you ever sleep?" he asked Whispers one morning, half-joking as he laced up his boots.

"I'm a bell..." he replied dryly. "Sleep isn't exactly part of my existence. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you."

He laughed, a rare sound that echoed in the stillness, a muffled clang spread out, and the air grew cold rapidly. Wuhlou's breath drew fog when they crest the hill. "Fair enough. But you're pushing me as hard as Foris does. What's next after these runs?"

"Patience," Whispers said, though his tone was teasing. "First, you finish building that foundation. Then we'll talk about techniques —real ones, not just the instincts you're relying on now. You've got potential, Wuhlou but potential's nothing without control."

As he ran, the landscape blurred around him —a mix of shadowed trees and the faint glow of luminescent fungi that dotted the academy's outskirts. His thoughts drifted to the lessons he had learned so far. Sergeant Foris's teachings were harsh but effective, emphasizing discipline, endurance, and the importance of a strong foundation. Wuhlou knew that without the basics, any attempt at advanced techniques would be futile —or worse, dangerous.

Yet, the urge to accelerate his progress gnawed at him. He had seen the power wielded by higher-ranking cultivators —their effortless command over Qi, their ability to shape the world with a mere gesture. He wanted that power, craved it with a hunger that sometimes frightened him but Whispers' warnings echoed in his mind, tempering his impatience. "No shortcuts," he muttered aloud, his voice lost in the wind. "Build the foundation first."

---

Meanwhile, within the grand hall of the Fuchsia Sect's Main Palace, chaos erupted. Patriarch Siwei Moging, his face contorted with rage, seized a subordinate by the collar and hurled him across the room. The man's head smashed through a support pillar, which trembled briefly before mystically repairing itself. Siwei's fury was palpable as he roared, "Arrand was an idiot! You couldn't even retrieve his storage ring? That fool hadn't refined the Hohobe Bells —he should've been easy to capture but you morons botched that too! The Gu Family was already suspicious of his absence. His body was supposed to be intact, discovered by them after you killed him —I don't care how!"

The subordinate scrambled to his feet, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. "Patriarch, we tried," he stammered, his voice trembling. "The sea beasts —they came out of nowhere. We barely escaped with our lives."

"Tried?" Siwei spat, his eyes narrowing. "You think 'tried' excuses this? Do you have any idea what's at stake?"

The man bowed his head, clutching his bleeding forehead. "I… I'll go back, Patriarch. I'll find it, I swear."

"You'd better," Siwei growled, turning away. "And don't come back without it. If the Water Dragon Clan gets their hands on whatever Arrand was hiding, we're all dead."

The hall filled with the murmurs ofsect Elders, their faces pale with fear. Siwei's temper was legendary and none dared speak out of turn. As the subordinates hurried away, Siwei turned to his advisors, his eyes blazing. "Prepare our defenses. The Water Dragon Clan won't stop until they have what they want. We need to buy time."

One advisor stepped forward hesitantly. "Patriarch, perhaps we should consider negotiating. If we can—"

"Negotiate?" Siwei scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "With the Water Dragon Clan? They'd sooner see us all dead than accept terms. No, we fight and we find that damned Orb before they do."

"But what if we don't have it?" the advisor pressed, his voice low. "What if Arrand lost it to the sea beasts, like he said?"

"Then we make them believe we do," Siwei snapped. "We bluff, we stall, we do whatever it takes. Get moving."

The advisor nodded, retreating into the shadows. Siwei stared at the shattered table, his mind racing. "That Fool! What exactly did Arrand take from them?"

At the edge of Fuchsia's shoreline, an undercurrent stirred with ominous intent. Banners emblazoned with tridents piercing phoenix faces fluttered above the waves. Soldiers astride immense sea beasts converged from every direction, their formations tightening as a great battle loomed. Dragon clansmen rose from the waters in great rows.

With a blood sacrifice staining the water crimson, a teleportation array flared to life and the Water Dragon Clan descended upon the Fuchsia sect.

The sect was surrounded in moments, its outer defenses battered under siege. Civilians outside screamed as they fell to the invaders' blades. From atop the city wall, Patriarch Siwei directed his forces, his voice cutting through the battleground chaos. "Seize Interim Magistrate Arrand's property and assets. Deliver his family to the Water Dragon Clan —it might buy us time to negotiate."

"Patriarch, is that wise?" one of his lieutenants shouted over the chaos. "If they think we're involved—"

"They already do!" Siwei barked. "Arrand was one of us, whether we like it or not. Giving them his family might make them pause, giving us a chance to figure out what he took."

The lieutenant hesitated, then nodded. "I'll see it done but what about the Orb they keep shouting about?"

It was a desperate ploy, a diversion from the truth he couldn't face. Arrand hid something from me, that bastard! Siwei gnashed his teeth, his suspicions festering.

Outside the city gates, a unified chant boomed like thunder, drowning out the clash of steel as storm clouds blotted out the sunlight. "SURRENDER THE ORB!" The command reverberated, sending waves of energy rippling through the Water Dragon Clan's front line.

"What Orb?" Siwei muttered under his breath, disgust twisting his features. "The thief and his family are at our gates. We're not involved!" he shouted, clasping his hands in a gesture of false respect. Rain lashed against his armor, unable to penetrate its enchantments, yet he was drenched from fear. I had sent Arrand to loot Dragon Cores from the Underwater Garden but apparently the little shit had stumbled onto something much more valuable. He Sighed and stood up.

Another jolting chant cracked across the battlefield.

"Surrender the Orb," a commander grunted, and the troops behind him beat their chests in unison, a war chant rising.

"We don't have it!" Siwei strained his voice, flinging Arrand's mangled remains into the battlefield's center. The corpse, ragged and half-digested, skid through the mud. "Sea beasts tore him apart before we could intervene. One of them has it." As patriarch, he couldn't admit fault —not to an enemy army this powerful and certainly not in front of them. To do so would mark the entire sect as a target.

"Do you think we're stupid?" the commander's voice sharpened. "We can feel traces of its energy even now! It was here."

"I'm telling you, we don't know what you're talking about!" Siwei yelled back, his voice cracking with frustration. "Search the damn sea if you're so sure!"

The storm clouds swirled and a lightning bolt as wide as a building crashed against the city's shield, damaging it in a dazzling display of force. "Gun Chao is in the Gold Stage of Mortal Entanglement," a soldier whispered, terror edging his voice. "He was a step from Immortal Ascension a century ago —where do you think he is now?" Another soldier bolted, only to be impaled by his officer's sword.

"Do you take us for fools?" the commander bellowed. "Its energies are undeniable. Since you refuse, don't blame me for your fate." The commander raised his hand, Qi poured from the Sea into his intent. Tens of lightning bolts rained down all at once, shattering the shield entirely. Dozens of Fuchsia cultivators perished beside their formation flags, their bodies charred. Gun Chao, the Water Dragon Clan's leader, raised his arm, lightning coiling into a two-meter sphere. With a thrust, he hurled it into the city's heart, igniting chaos.

"Hold the line!" Siwei screamed, drawing his sword. "We fight!"

---

On a solitary ridge near the river's delta, shielded from knowledge of the Dragon Clan's wrath, Wuhlou sat in cultivation for several days to test his endurance, gauging how long his body could absorb ambient Qi before attempting to break through.

Whispers had offered guidance before retreating to refine materials from Arrand's storage ring —resources Wuhlou couldn't use but which Whispers deemed vital for his future. "What are you doing with those materials?" Wuhlou asked, his voice quiet as he sat cross-legged, eyes closed.

"Preparing," Whispers replied, his tone distracted. "The ring had more than just trinkets—there's raw Qi essence in there, the kind that can forge artifacts or bolster your cultivation later. I'm stabilizing it so it doesn't dissipate."

"Artifacts?" Wuhlou's interest piqued. "Like weapons?"

"Eventually," Whispers said. "But you're nowhere near ready to wield something like that. Focus on your body for now. How's the energy feeling?"

"Thicker," Wuhlou said, frowning as he concentrated. "It's like trying to breathe syrup. My chest feels heavy, but it's not painful—just… strange."

"That's good," Whispers assured him. "You're pulling in more than you're used to. Keep it steady. Tell me if it starts to burn."

---

Beyond Fuchsia's borders, the Kingdom of Winthrop buzzed with unease. Spies reported the siege and while some welcomed Fuchsia's potential fall, others feared a similar fate for themselves. In a modest bar on the kingdom's outskirts, a perky waitress served drinks, deflecting the guards' crude jests with laughter.

A man in foreign garb entered, his eyes scanning the room warily before he settled at a table. Outside, a marriage procession rolled by, its jeweled carts drawing a crowd. "Here," he said, passing the waitress silver for a cup of wine.

"The caravan's a juicy target but too many eyes are on it," a drunken guard slurred, ogling the passing treasures.

"Low-grade trinkets and decorations," the foreigner scoffed, downing his drink and departing. The guard glared but couldn't dispute the assessment —a cultivator's eye saw through the display's mediocrity.

"Think he's one of them?" the waitress whispered to another guard, nodding toward the foreigner's retreating figure.

"Could be," the guard muttered. "Too sharp for a common traveler. Keep an eye out."

Wuhlou rose on the cliffside, his body brimming with strength, his senses sharpened to the energies around him.

Whispers emerged, hovering before him. "The first obstacle is assuming you'll always have control. Now that your breathing is steady and you can sense fluctuations clearly, it's time to establish your foundation.."

A cauldron thudded onto the ground, its energy sweeping the cliff clear of debris with a heavy thud. Wuhlou climbed in, fists clenched in quiet triumph. "You'll perform self-refinement until nightfall," Whispers instructed, merging back into him. "I'll stimulate your acupoints. Feel the rotational forces and proceed step by step. Your body is your foundation —I can only open one at a time and forcing them brings pain."

Wuhlou detected a hint of restraint in Whispers' tone, pain was nothing new. "Then I have no reason to refuse."

"I'll begin now. Endure." Inside the cauldron, Wuhlou attuned to Whispers' process. The bell split into twin forms —one shadow, one light —both spinning in a polarization. Energy surged toward his abdomen, purging any stagnation as it cycled. Pressure mounted along his acupoints, equalizing only for Whispers to increase the pressure again. After four grueling hours, a shattering sound erupted within him, a crisp thunderclap heralding his first acupoint's opening. Strength flooded his limbs, his body newly reborn.

A ripple of light radiated outward, illuminating the cliff.

"You succeeded," Whispers said, materializing large handfuls of Spiritshards to orbit Wuhlou. "Now cultivate and refine these."

"How does it feel?"

"Like I could break a mountain," Wuhlou said, grinning as he stepped out of the cauldron. "But also… unsteady. Like the power's there but I don't own it yet."

"That's why we refine our abilities in meditation," Whispers replied. "Raw strength is useless without precision. Let's test it."

Sprinting back to the training grounds at top speed, Wuhlou arrived in ten minutes. The area was deserted, perfect for testing his limits. He struck a boulder, shattering it into fragments. "Your strength has quadrupled and you've yet to actually learn a technique," Whispers noted, overseeing his refinement as dawn impatiently approached.

"Quadrupled?" Wuhlou echoed, staring at the rubble. "That's… more than I expected."

"Don't get cocky," Whispers warned. "It's a start, not a finish. You've got a long way to go."

Later that day, as Wuhlou returned to the academy, a sudden disturbance rippled through the air. The ground trembled, and a low growl echoed from the Crimson Gorge, a narrow pass he'd taken as a shortcut. Whispers' voice sharpened in his mind. "Be alert. Something's wrong."

Before he could respond, the air shivered with a faint hum of Qi. A figure dropped from an overhang above, landing with a thud ten paces ahead. Dust swirled around a lean man clad in tattered gray robes, his face obscured by a hood. In his right hand, he gripped a staff topped with a dull green crystal, its surface pulsing faintly. His left hand twitched, fingers curling as if ready to weave handsigns.

"Who are you?" Wuhlou demanded, drawing his sword with a wooden rasp. The weight felt reassuring, though his grip was still untested in a real duel.

The man tilted his head, revealing a scarred jawline and a smirk. "Call me Yao Jing," he said, his voice rough like gravel. "Heard there's a new pup sniffing around the gorge. Figured I'd test you. That energy you're leaking —it's fresh. Unpolished. Perfect for breaking."

Wuhlou tensed, feeling the truth in the Monk's words. His Qi was a beacon, untrained and wild, drawing threats like moths to a flame. "Walk away," he said, steadying his stance. "I don't want trouble."

"Too late for that," Yao Jing sneered. He slammed his staff into the ground and a ripple of green energy surged outward, cracking the earth. "Let's see what you've got, pup."

The fight erupted as Jing thrust his staff forward, the crystal flaring. A gust of wind laced with sharp, needle-like Qi shards hurtled toward Wuhlou. Instinct kicked in —he dove to the side, rolling out of the way as the shards peppered the ground where he'd stood, kicking up dust and stone chips.

"Move!" Whispers barked. "He's matching your speed. Don't just dodge —counter!"

Wuhlou sprang up, channeling Qi into his legs. The warm thread of energy surged, unsteady but potent, propelling him forward in a burst of speed. He closed the gap, swinging his sword in a wide arc aimed at Yao Jing's chest. The blade whistled through the air but it was easily sidestepped with practiced momentum, the Monk twirled his staff to deflect the strike. Sparks flew as metal clashed against wood, the impact jarring Wuhlou's arm.

"Not bad," Yao Jing grunted, leaping back. "But sloppy." He spun the staff, and the crystal pulsed again. This time, a whip-like tendril of lashed out, dozens of vines were snapping.

Wuhlou jumped, tucking his knees but the tendril grazed his ankle, leaving a stinging welt. He landed awkwardly, stumbling as pain flared with each step. "He's fast," he muttered, regaining his footing.

"Faster than you, but not stronger," Whispers said. "Use your power —hit harder, not just quicker."

Gritting his teeth, Wuhlou charged again. He feinted a high slash, then dropped low, aiming a kick at Jing's shins. He hopped back but Wuhlou followed through, thrusting his sword upward. The tip grazed Yao Jing's robe, tearing fabric but he countered with a downward staff strike. Wuhlou blocked with his blade, the force driving him to one knee, his arms shaking once again with it's impact.

Yao Jing smirked, stepping back to widen the distance. "Pup. Let me show you a real trick." He planted his staff, chanting under his breath. The crystal glowed brighter, and the ground beneath Wuhlou's feet shuddered. Roots —twisted, thorned, and pulsing with green Qi—burst from the earth, coiling toward him like serpents.

"This again?!" Whispers was irritated, "They'll drain you!"

Wuhlou slashed at the roots, his sword cutting through one, then another. Sap sprayed, sticky and fragrant but more sprouted faster than he could hack. A root snagged his leg, thorns digging in. He roared, yanking his Qi inward, and stomped with all his newfound strength. The ground cracked, shattering the root but Yao Jing was already moving.

The staff-wielder darted forward, his rod spinning. He struck low, then high, a flurry of blows Wuhlou struggled to parry. One hit glanced off his shoulder —the same wounded one —drawing a hiss of pain. Wuhlou swung wildly, forcing Yao Jing back but his breathing grew ragged.

"Calm down," Whispers said. "You're wasting energy. Focus your Qi —precision, not just force."

Wuhlou nodded subconciously, steadying himself. He gripped Ellinger's Rot with both hands, channeling Qi into the blade. It didn't glow or hum —nothing so dramatic —but the wood felt heavier, more solid. He lunged, aiming a controlled thrust at Yao Jing's midsection but the impact pushed him back a step further, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"Better," Yao Jing said, twirling his staff. "Let's turn it up." He slammed the staff down for a third time and a wave of green mist billowed out, obscuring the gorge. Wuhlou's vision blurred, the mist stinging his eyes and throat.

The mist thickened, muffling sound and light. Wuhlou coughed, squinting as Yao Jing's silhouette vanished. "He's using cover," Whispers warned. "Listen and feel the air."

Wuhlou closed his eyes, relying on the faint Qi sensitivity he'd gained. A whisper of movement came from his right. He swung blindly, blade meeting staff with a clang. The Monk materialized, staff raised and unleashed a barrage —three quick jabs aimed at Wuhlou's chest, stomach, and head. Wuhlou parried the first, dodged the second but the third grazed his temple, splitting skin.

Blood trickled.

Reeling, Wuhlou retreated, the mist swirling around him. Yao Jing pressed the attack, staff whirling. Wuhlou ducked a swing, then rolled forward, slashing at Jing's legs again. The blade nicked Yao Jing's calf, drawing a grunt but it was pointless –a blast of wind from the staff, hurled Wuhlou into the gorge wall. Rock bit into his back, knocking the breath from him.

"Get up!" Whispers shouted. "He's playing with and wearing you down!"

Wuhlou staggered to his feet, pain lancing through his ribs.

"Had enough, pup?" he taunted, the Monk advanced undeterred, raising the staff. The crystal flared and a dark jade spear shot forth.

"I think he's trying to provoke you.." Whispers chimed in sarcastically but the nuance did not take in Wuhlou's mind: he dove, the spear scorching the air above him. He hit the ground hard on his knees. "I need something more," he gasped. "He's well trained.."

"You've got raw power," Whispers said. "Use it smartly. The environment —turn it against him."

Wuhlou glanced around, the mist thinning slightly. The gorge walls loomed, studded with loose rocks. An idea sparked. He sprinted toward Yao Jing, feinting a direct attack. Yao Jing swung his staff but Wuhlou veered, leaping onto a boulder. He kicked off, Qi surging into his legs and launched himself at the gorge wall. Grabbing a jutting rock, he yanked with all his strength. The stone broke free, tumbling down toward Yao Jing.

Yao Jing cursed and his staff to shield himself. The rock smashed against it, cracking the soft wood but not the crystal.

Wuhlou landed, charging through the dust cloud. He tackled Yao Jing, driving his shoulder into the man's gut. They hit the ground, grappling. Yao Jing elbowed Wuhlou's jaw several times but Wuhlou pinned the staff arm, wrenching it back.

The crystal flared when Yao Jing grabbed at it in the tumble and roots erupted again, wrapping Wuhlou's arms. He roared, Qi flooding his muscles, and tore free, snapping the roots. Yao Jing kicked him off, rolling away but Wuhlou was relentless. He grabbed a fallen rock, hurling it at Yao Jing's head. Yao Jing ducked but the distraction gave Wuhlou an opening.

Sword in hand, he lunged, slashing downward. Yao Jing blocked with the broken staff but the force drove him to his knees. Wuhlou pressed, striking again and again —each blow heavier, fueled by desperation and growing control. Yao Jing's arms shook, the staff began to splinter.

"You're tough," Yao Jing panted, blood seeping from his mouth. "But not enough." He thrust the staff forward, the crystal burst in a blinding pulse. Wuhlou shielded his eyes, stumbling back as Yao Jing rose, limping but defiant.

"Now!" Whispers urged. "All your Qi—focus it!"

Wuhlou planted his feet, gripping his sword. He drew every ounce of energy from his acupoint, nearly collapsing it, the warm thread becoming a torrent. His arms burned, muscles straining but he held it. Yao Jing charged, the remains of the broken staff -aimed like a spear.

Wuhlou sidestepped, then swung —a single, precise strike, Qi exploding through the blade.

The sword met the staff, shattering it in a burst of green light. The shockwave threw Yao Jing back, his staff reduced to bits. He crashed against the gorge wall, slumping, dazed but alive.

Wuhlou stood, chest heaving, sword trembling in his grip. Blood dripped from his temple and shoulder but he'd won. "Stay down," he rasped.

Yao Jing chuckled weakly, raising his hands. "Not bad, pup. You've got fight in you. Keep the gorge —I'm done." As the young monk staggered away, Whispers spoke. "You're learning. That was messy but you used what you had. Reflect on it and you'll become stronger."

Wuhlou sheathed his sword, exhaustion crashing over him. "One step at a time," he muttered, limping onward.

Wuhlou sat on a flat rock overlooking the gorge, the twin suns now fully set once again, their light replaced by the soft glow of luminescent fungi dotting the cliffs. His shoulder throbbed, the wound still fresh but the pain was a distant memory compared to the satisfaction of victory. He unwrapped the blood-soaked cloth, inspecting the gash.

"You did well today," Whispers said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "You're starting to think like a fighter, not just a brawler. That's progress."

Wuhlou nodded, wincing as he dabbed at the wound with a clean strip of cloth. "I still feel like I barely scraped by. If he'd been stronger…"

"He was stronger," Whispers corrected. "But you were smarter. You used the environment, you adapted. That's what matters. Strength without strategy is just brute force, and brute force has limits."

Wuhlou tied off the bandage, testing his arm's range of motion. "I need to get better at controlling my Qi. It felt… like it was slipping away from me."

"It will, at first," Whispers agreed. "That's why we refine. Each time you use it, you'll learn to shape it more precisely. Think of it like forging a blade —each strike hones the edge."

Wuhlou leaned back, staring up at the star-strewn sky. "I've got a long way to go, don't I?"

"Yes," Whispers said simply. "But you're on the path and you're not alone. I'll guide you but the work is yours."

He smiled faintly, the weight of Whisper's words settling over him like a cloak. "I wouldn't have it any other way."