The cave was quiet again, save for the gentle drip of water echoing through the stone chamber like a ticking clock. Chase sat cross-legged, unmoving, drenched in sweat. His blind eyes stared ahead, unseeing—but focused. His breathing was shallow, controlled. On the outside, he looked still. Inside, a storm brewed.
He was listening.
No, more than listening—feeling.
The pulse of the earth beneath him, the subtle shift of air when a beetle crawled past. The sound of Mason's old sandals shuffling twenty paces away. The tiny crackle of his own energy shifting inside him like a trapped flame looking for a way out.
Days had bled into weeks. Time had become fluid. Pain had become constant. And slowly… he was changing.
Chase's hair clung to his forehead, now slightly longer than before, half-black, still messy. Small silvery strands had begun to appear near the temples—faint, barely visible, but undeniably there. A side effect of his elemental resonance, though Mason hadn't mentioned it. Perhaps the old man thought it was better if he didn't know just yet.
"Again," Mason's voice rang out from the shadows. "What is in my hand?"
Chase frowned. "Your… pipe?"
A sharp flick of a cane struck his ankle.
"Wrong! That was three tests ago. Are you living in the past now, boy?"
"I'm blind, not omniscient," Chase muttered, rubbing his ankle.
"Excuses are for people who die in the first round of a tournament," Mason quipped. "Now focus. Feel it. Don't just hear—sense. Let your energy extend like a ripple. Let your thoughts go quiet."
Chase took a breath and did as told. Quiet. Slow. Deep.
In the silence, he pushed outward. He imagined his mind as a still lake. The moment he dropped a thought into it, ripples formed. He let them go. Then—there. A faint, static buzz in the air. A sharp scent of burning ash.
"…You're holding that weird lightning talisman again."
Mason clicked his tongue. "Well, I'll be! You finally nailed it."
Chase smiled faintly.
Then Mason threw the talisman—hard.
Chase ducked just in time, the sizzling paper flying over his head and exploding against the wall behind him with a crackling bang. Bits of dust rained down on him.
"…You trying to kill me?!"
"That's the cultivation world for you," Mason said with a grin. "If you can't dodge a sneak attack during training, how will you dodge one when some bandit throws an actual fireball at your face?"
"I'd… probably die?"
"Exactly. So I'm doing you a favor!"
Chase groaned. "You and your favors are going to be the end of me."
Mason laughed, the sound echoing through the cave. Then his tone softened. "But you're improving. Even faster than I expected. Your spiritual sense is forming, slowly. Not quite there yet, but it's growing."
Chase's cloudy grey eyes blinked. "Spiritual sense…?"
"Most cultivators don't unlock it until the higher stages of Core Formation," Mason said, voice thoughtful. "But you're beginning to feel it early. Maybe that lightning and darkness inside you is stirring more than just your dantian."
Chase tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"Lightning sharpens the senses. Darkness... listens," Mason said. "Together, they make for a predator few will see coming."
"…Sounds cool when you say it like that."
"Right? I'm full of cool sayings," Mason said proudly, then coughed. "Even if half of them are made up."
Chase grinned.
Then, he stilled.
His expression changed.
"…There's something outside."
Mason raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I can't explain it. It's… distant, but sharp. Like a scream trapped in metal. And… humming. There's humming." Chase stood slowly, blind eyes narrowed. "It's near the cave entrance."
Mason's amusement vanished. "Stay here."
The old man turned, his worn sandals brushing against the stone as he disappeared toward the entrance. Chase strained, focusing. He wasn't hallucinating—there was something. A pressure. Not dangerous, but ancient.
Minutes passed.
Mason returned, holding something in his hand.
It was a spearhead, half-buried in rock, now faintly glowing with dark and silver veins running through it.
"What is that…?" Chase asked.
Mason's face was unreadable. "Something old. Very, very old."
He tossed it to Chase.
Chase caught it on instinct.
The moment his fingers touched the cold metal, a jolt ran up his arm. Not pain—recognition. As if the weapon… knew him.
Images flashed behind his blind eyes. A battlefield. Storms raging. Darkness howling.
Then it was gone.
Chase fell to his knees, gasping.
Mason crouched beside him. "Looks like you've just found your first lucky encounter."
"…I thought I was going to find some hidden herb or treasure, not… memories."
"Boy, you'll learn fast—cultivation ain't just about pills and shiny rocks. Sometimes, you inherit legacies you didn't even ask for." He nodded at the spearhead. "Looks like that one chose you."
Chase stared at the piece in his hands. It was chipped and old. But somehow… it felt like it was waiting to be whole again.
Waiting for him.