First Cut

Stella walks out of the newspaper office, her head dropped low, eyes fixed on the floor.

What have I done? she thinks, She's been with me through thick and thin, and now...

She wanders to her next class, her thoughts heavy and jumbled. She sits through the lesson, but nothing sticks.

There's still a world I don't understand. I have to steal my mother's book... I have to make things right with Rachel. How can I focus on— She glances up. Calculus?

Without hesitation, she grabs her bag and walks out of the classroom so quickly that her teacher doesn't even have time to question it.

Out the door and onto the school steps, Stella's feet carry her home, but her pace is slow and uncertain. Dread coils in her stomach.

Will they be mad? Will they even care now that the secret's out?

She plays out countless scenarios in her head—reactions, confrontations, confessions. By the time she's aware of her surroundings again, she's already at her front door.

She reaches for the handle, but the door creaks open on its own. Her father's voice floats from inside.

"Home early, aren't you?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but he cuts her off.

"Doesn't matter. Come in. It's time for your training to start."

He turns and walks toward the basement. Words die in her throat, and without thinking, she steps inside. The door shuts behind her with a quiet finality.

She glances back, amazed—and slightly unnerved—then follows her father down the stairs. As she descends, she notices something has changed. Strange symbols are carved into the walls, glowing faintly with a rhythmic pulse.

"Runes," Shaka says, glancing over his shoulder. "They're the language this world was built on."

He chuckles. "Wanna hear a joke? Runes are just a bunch of scribbles the Creator made when he was bored. The symbols themselves are useless. What gives them power is the intent he poured into them."

Stella, walking close behind, furrows her brow. "How is that a joke?"

Shaka smirks. "You'll see."

It's then she realizes something is off—they've been walking down the stairs for far too long. They should have reached the basement three times over.

"Father, what's—"

Before she can finish, she sees it. A vast white room stretches out before her, empty except for a large wardrobe pressed against the far wall.

"I had to expand the basement," Shaka explains casually, "Now that your training's beginning, we need more space."

Stella stares in awe.

Without missing a beat, Shaka tosses her a bundle of clothing.

"Change into these. They'll help you in the trials to come. The bathroom's on the left—just walk toward the wall, and it'll open for you."

She glances down at the outfit: a white bodysuit with sleek, two black stripes running vertically. When she approaches the wall, it shifts and parts to reveal a full bathroom inside.

How in the world...?

"No time to waste," her father calls out. "Hurry up."

Moments later, Stella returns, now dressed in the suit. She tugs at the fabric, uncomfortable.

"Is this really necessary? It's so tight—it's sticking to my skin."

Shaka ignores her complaint and moves to the cabinet. When he opens it, she sees rows of weapons—each one gleaming, each one different—but all of them cold weapons.

Why would he need so many? she wonders.

He scans them like someone selecting wine. His fingers stop on a short dagger, and his eyes glint.

"You're wondering why you need the suit, right?"

Stella nods cautiously.

Shaka's smile widens. The dagger in his hand vanishes.

Before she can blink, a sharp wind slashes past her arm—followed by a burst of searing pain. She cries out. Blood runs down her forearm, but before she can even panic, the suit absorbs it. The pain vanishes. Her skin knits itself back together.

"How...?" she breathes.

"Alchemy, formations, enchantments," Shaka says proudly. "All three disciplines woven together. That bodysuit is the result. But don't get ahead of yourself—it only works that way in this room. Outside, it's just self-fitting."

Stella's brief hope of giving one to Rachel disappears.

"Enough lollygagging," Shaka continues. "Shall we begin?"

Stella nods, steeling herself.

"Sit."

She obeys, heart pounding. Sweat gathers on her brow.

What's he going to do? Throw another knife at me?

"What's your mother told you about cultivators?"

"Nothing. She just asked if I knew what cultivation was."

"Good. Then let's start from the beginning. Cultivators absorb the mana—or aura, depending on who you ask—that exists between Heaven and Earth. We refine it, making it our own. Sounds simple, but it's difficult. And talent matters more than most want to admit. Luckily, you don't have to worry about that."

He steps behind her.

"The first step is sensing mana. If you can't sense it, you can't refine it. That's the door I'm opening for you now."

"Open? You mean cultivators need a mentor to access it?"

"No. I mean the seal. The one we placed on you when we left the family. With your gifts, mana would've found you by now. You'd have begun refining it without realizing it."

He places a firm hand on her back. Instantly, she feels a burning heat surge through her. An intricate, luminous pattern forms across her back.

"Bear with me," he says, voice grave. "This will hurt well—a lot."

And then the pain erupts. Like fire and lightning surging through her veins, the heat rips through her body, tearing through invisible barriers.

She screams, thrashes, tries to escape his grasp—but he holds firm. It feels endless. When it finally ends, the pattern is nearly gone—except for a single symbol: a pair of sown lips.

Stella collapses, gasping, trembling.

"Get up," Shaka says. "Your pain hasn't even begun yet."

She struggles to sit upright. Her breath comes in ragged pulls—but then she notices it.

The world has changed.

Colors bloom richer. The air carries a sweet scent. She can feel the world—its texture, its movement. Her skin tingles with it.

She raises her hands. "What... is this?"

"Your birthright," Shaka answers. "That white hair of yours holds more secrets than I'll ever understand. It's for you to figure out."

He walks back to the weapons and selects a short staff.

"I said sensing mana is the first step—and that's true. But it's only the qualification for cultivation beyond Tier 1. The true first stage is body refinement. You must temper your body to withstand the violence of mana."

He narrows his eyes.

"For you, it may seem gentle—but for others, it's like holding fire."

"So we can skip it, then," Stella says.

The moment the words leave her mouth, she feels her body compress—then she's flung across the room. She crashes into a wall with a thud.

"NEVER skip a step on the path of cultivation," Shaka says coldly. "No matter how minor it seems."

Stella pushes herself up, coughing blood.

"You could've just said that! Why did you have to hit me?!"

In an instant, he's in front of her. She hadn't even seen him move.

He kneels beside her.

"You would've seen it—if your body had been refined. There's no better teacher than pain."

And it's more fun for me, he thinks, though he keeps that to himself.

"Now," he says, offering no reprieve, "shall we begin for real?"