Pain was a constant.Not the sharp kind, not the searing stab of a sword or the crack of bone—no, this pain was dull, persistent. A never-ending throb at the center of Chase's chest where his dantian used to be.
He could hear wind in the trees. Water dripping on leaves. A campfire crackling.
And breathing. Old-man breathing. Like a goat with asthma.
"You're awake," the gruff voice said. "Took you long enough. Thought I'd have to bury you and raise a cabbage instead."
Chase tried to move, but even twitching sent a bolt of agony down his spine.
"Where am I?" he rasped.
"Alive. Mostly. In my humble and luxurious forest shack." A loud slurp followed. "Also, I'm eating soup. Want some? Wait, right. You're blind. Guess I'll feed you."
Before Chase could protest, a steaming spoon rammed itself against his lip.
He gagged.
"What is this?!"
"Pine needle stew. Mixed with some beetle legs. Adds crunch."
"…I want to die."
"You already did," Mason said cheerfully. "Now shut up and drink."
It took Chase three days to regain enough strength to sit upright. He still couldn't see. Not a single color, shape, or flicker of light. But his hearing was changing.
He could hear the dew sliding off leaves in the morning. He could hear mice breathing underground. He could hear Mason snoring louder than an ox in mating season.
"You're not just healing," Mason muttered one night, poking Chase with a stick. "Your body's adapting. Good. Use it."
"To what?" Chase said bitterly. "I can't cultivate. My dantian is gone."
Mason barked a laugh. "Oh, poor baby. Dantian this, dantian that. The heavens gave you two affinities, boy. Two. And you're crying about a hole in your belly?"
Chase frowned. "How did you know I had two affinities?"
"I touched your meridians. While you were unconscious. Real intimate stuff." Mason smirked.
"You're disgusting."
"Thank you."
Mason's tone shifted. "Lightning and darkness. A rare combo. Dangerous, too. If you'd stayed with your family, you'd have been turned into a tool or corpse by now."
Chase looked down at his trembling hands. "They already tried."
The fire crackled.
"Good," Mason said after a long pause. "Hate fuels progress."
Training began on the fifth day. Mason called it "Awakening the Senses." Chase called it "Torment, Forest Edition."
The first exercise?
Standing still. For hours. In the middle of a forest clearing.
"Feel the space around you," Mason said from a nearby stump. "Listen with more than your ears. Sense with your skin, your bones, your spirit."
"I sense the urge to punch you."
"That's progress."
Chase gritted his teeth and focused. Leaves rustled. Insects buzzed. A fox slinked through the underbrush.
He could almost… feel it. The presence of things. Like gentle pulses in the air.
Then a rock hit him in the forehead.
"OW! What was that?!"
"Surprise attack. Stay alert."
More rocks followed. A rain of them. Chase tried to dodge, failed miserably, and collapsed like a sack of wet bread.
From the ground he shouted, "This is abuse!"
"No, no, this is cultivation."
The weeks passed.
Chase's body, once frail and bruised, strengthened day by day. Though he still couldn't form qi due to his shattered core, his speed and reflexes improved as he trained his senses.
At night, Mason would brew strange teas and whisper to the moon. In the morning, he'd throw Chase into lakes or hang him from tree branches.
"You're insane."
"Correct. But strong. Want to be strong?"
"…Yes."
"Then climb the pine tree. Backwards. With one arm."
"…Why are you like this?"
"Because I used to be worse."
One stormy evening, Chase sat under the overhang of the shack, rain pouring around him. He could feel it now—not just hear it, but feel where the raindrops landed. Every drop was a note in a song only he could hear.
"You're learning fast," Mason said, approaching with a bottle of something suspiciously bubbling.
Chase turned his head. "I still can't see."
"Bah. Eyes are overrated." Mason sat beside him. "You ever hear of Spirit Sense?"
Chase shook his head.
"It's what cultivators use in higher realms. A way to perceive the world through qi and intent. A sixth sense, really. You don't have a dantian, but you do have spirit. And your affinity with darkness? It helps."
"How?"
"Darkness isn't just absence of light. It's the presence of mystery. Of the unseen. You, my boy, are becoming a creature of the unseen."
Chase felt his chest tighten. A twinge of fear… and excitement.
"I'll train you," Mason said quietly. "For as long as it takes. But once you're ready… you'll leave."
"Leave?"
"This forest isn't your ending. It's your rebirth. One day, you'll return to the world that spat you out. And when you do—" Mason's eyes gleamed with something dangerous. "—they'll never see it coming."