Chase's breathing was steady, controlled. The cave air had grown still around him, and though his eyes no longer functioned, he felt the world in a way that didn't rely on sight.
He sat cross-legged near the center of the cavern. Beside him, Milo lay curled around his feet, tail twitching now and then like he was dreaming of lightning.
For the last three hours, Chase had done nothing but listen.
Not just with his ears, but with something deeper—something Mason had only just begun to explain.
"Spiritual sense," the old man had said, floating a few feet away upside down like a drunk sage. "Most cultivators awaken it during the third or fourth realm. But yours is... odd. Probably because of your affinities. Or the fact that you died inside a tomb and woke up with a wyrmling chewing your sleeve."
Chase said nothing. His focus remained locked inward.
He could feel Mason's presence without hearing him.
He could feel the moisture dripping from the stalactites in the ceiling.
The gentle vibration of bugs crawling inside cracks in the rock.
Even the heartbeat of Milo, synchronized with his own.
"Good," Mason finally muttered. "You're starting to separate 'noise' from 'presence.' That's the first step. Next, try identifying intent."
"…Intent?"
"Yes. Presence is just... that someone or something is there. Intent is why they're there. It's subtle. A cultivator's killing intent is sharp, their greed thick, their lust sticky—"
"—I really didn't need that last one."
"Don't interrupt the master when he's being wise!"
Milo opened one eye and let out a chirp of agreement. Probably.
Chase's lips twitched slightly. Then he returned to silence.
Presence. Intent.
He reached again with that growing awareness—his spiritual sense. And in doing so, he felt something shift in the world. Not outside—but within himself.
A single thread of lightning hummed in his core.
Darkness pooled beneath it, calm and deep, like an endless well.
He focused.
The lightning surged forward, but instead of spreading wildly, it flowed like a current through invisible channels. He followed it.
Each pulse expanded his range. He could "see" more now, sense further. It wasn't eyesight, but it was understanding. As if the world whispered back to him when he asked politely.
Then—
Crunch.
His awareness snapped outward.
A sound.
No—an intent.
Something had entered the outer range of his spiritual sense.
"Someone's nearby," Chase said calmly.
Mason blinked. "Already? How far?"
Chase tilted his head. "Two… no, three hundred meters. Light footfalls. Controlled breathing. Moving through the forest near the waterfall path. Intent is… watching."
Mason's brows furrowed. "A scout?"
Chase slowly stood. "Not a beast. Not hostile, either. Cautious."
Milo growled softly.
"Alright," Mason muttered, scratching his beard. "We've been here too long. This tomb's energy has probably leaked out. And someone caught the scent."
Chase remained silent. His fingers brushed against the new spear shaft resting at his side. It was unpolished still—more a rod than a weapon—but it pulsed faintly when he touched it. There was something more to it. A presence within.
"You're not ready to fight yet," Mason said, narrowing his eyes. "We still haven't even reconstructed your dantian. But your awareness… it's progressing too fast."
"I'll stay hidden," Chase replied. "Just want to see who it is."
Mason snorted. "You're blind. Who are you going to see?"
Chase smirked. "Better than you think."
—
Ten minutes later, Chase crouched near the cavern entrance.
He couldn't see, but he didn't need to.
Every leaf flutter.
Every twig snap.
Every heartbeat.
They all painted a map in his mind.
He lay still beneath a cloak of shadows that Milo had woven—not quite invisibility, but close. The wyrmling now glowed faintly with a purple sheen, his lightning-darkness affinity leaking into the air.
Then—movement.
A girl stepped out from the foliage.
She was young. Perhaps sixteen. Long robes of forest green marked her as someone from a sect—though which, he couldn't tell yet. Her steps were silent, but her eyes betrayed caution.
No killing intent. No malicious greed. Just… curiosity?
Chase lowered his body further. Observing.
The girl stepped closer to the edge of the clearing and crouched, examining faint claw marks on a nearby tree. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Whatever made this… wasn't ordinary," she murmured.
Chase remained still.
"Found her," Mason whispered in his ear through sound transmission. "Northern Leaf Sect scout. No threat. Looks like a disciple sent to investigate tomb activity."
"What now?" Chase whispered back.
"We're leaving. She saw signs of the battle, but she doesn't know what was born here. And let's keep it that way."
Milo cooed softly, pressing his tiny head to Chase's shoulder.
"Time to move, then."
They slipped back into the forest shadows, unnoticed.
—
Back at the mountain's edge, Mason led the way, floating above the forest floor.
"Where are we going next?" Chase asked.
"The next phase of your training," Mason replied. "Your spiritual sense is forming faster than I expected. The tomb's energy accelerated it. Next, we get your body in sync."
Chase raised a brow. "Body?"
"Oh yes," Mason grinned. "You ever fought without a dantian?"
"…No?"
"Well, you'll learn. We'll start with the basics. Running up waterfalls, dodging boulders, fighting mountain lions with chopsticks. You know. Normal stuff."
"…I'm sorry, what?"
"Oh! And I found a very grumpy beast that lives near a volcanic crater. You'll love her."
Chase sighed.
Milo chirped.
And the journey resumed.
One footstep at a time, further away from the life he once had.
Closer to the path he was now destined to walk.