Knock! Knock!
A gentle rap on his door pulled Silak from his deep meditation. "Time for dinner, son," Iskra's warm voice called from the hallway. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs."
Silak slowly opened his eyes, the vibrant flow of Qi within him settling into a placid lake. He found he could now enter and exit a state of cultivation with ease, a small but significant mark of his growing control. The faint, savory aroma of his mother's cooking drifted up from downstairs, and his stomach rumbled in response. He quickly got up and rushed to the kitchen to join her.
The meal was simple but hearty. As they ate, a question that had been forming in Silak's mind finally surfaced.
"Mother," he began, "do we have any records of insights from our predecessors about the Cosmic Meridian Flow technique?"
Iskra looked up from her bowl, a curious but pleased expression on her face. "Yes, we do. They are kept in the family's private collection, not in the public library you usually visit. Why the sudden interest in the old records?"
"I've been thinking about my foundation," Silak explained carefully. "I've learned that for a cultivator to achieve true mastery over their technique, they must understand the universal mysteries behind its mantra and achieve enlightenment. I believe this can help elevate the effects of the technique, even if it's considered a low-level one."
Iskra's smile widened with pride. "That is very astute of you, son. It's a level of understanding many warriors don't reach until they are much older. And you are right, it goes even deeper than that."
She leaned forward, her voice taking on the tone of a mentor sharing a profound secret. "For some of the most mysterious and powerful techniques in the world, if a cultivator can achieve full mastery and a state of true enlightenment with it, there is a slight chance they can awaken a 'gift.' It is a unique ability, born from the technique but exclusive to that individual alone. It is, however, exceedingly rare. Even among the greatest geniuses, the number who awaken such a gift can be counted on one hand."
Silak's eyes gleamed with a new, long-term goal. He felt a thrill at the prospect. "I see. Thank you, Mother. That's why I want to read their insights."
"Given your innate comprehension, I am sure you will benefit greatly from them," Iskra said warmly. "Don't worry, I will retrieve them for you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Mother!" he beamed.
After dinner, Silak routinely helped clean up before returning to his room, his mind buzzing with new possibilities. He rested for the night, knowing tomorrow would be a busy day, starting with a trip back to The Gilded Thorn.
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The next day.
Silak woke before the sun, a current of excitement running through him. He left a note on the kitchen table for his mother, letting her know he would be back before dinner, and then rushed out, the four spatial satchels now heavy with their precious cargo.
As he entered the inn, he found it mostly empty, the quiet of the early morning broken only by a single worker sweeping the floors. At the bar, the one-eyed cat, Ash, cracked open its sole eye to see who the customer was. Upon recognizing the boy, it let out a soft huff and immediately went back to its nap. Silak took the silent dismissal as permission to proceed upstairs.
Knock! Knock!
"Mister Dwalin, it's me, Silak," his young voice echoed in the silent corridor.
A muffled groan came from the other side of the door. "Hold on… coming…" Dwalin's voice was thick and groggy with sleep.
The door creaked open to reveal the dwarf rubbing his eyes and yawning. "You're an early bird, lad."
Silak chuckled in embarrassment as he closed the door behind him. Dwalin was already shuffling back toward his bed, clearly intending to resume his interrupted slumber. "I'm sorry for waking you, Mister Dwalin. I was just too excited and couldn't sleep."
He walked over to the table and, with four soft thuds, placed the spatial satchels down. "Here," he announced. "I've successfully filled all four pouches I borrowed from you."
Dwalin stopped dead in his tracks. The drowsiness vanished from his face as if splashed with ice water, replaced instantly by wide-eyed excitement. He spun around and rushed towards the table as if his life depended on it. "That was fast, lad!" he exclaimed, picking up each satchel and feeling its surprising heft. "You really did it!"
His eyes, now gleaming, darted to Silak. "Can I open them now?" he asked, the sleep completely forgotten, his voice filled with nothing but a smith's eager anticipation.
Silak laughed. "Of course! We have a long day ahead. If we want to get through all of this, we'd better start early."
With the reverence of a priest handling sacred relics, Dwalin carefully opened the first satchel. Instead of pouring the contents out, he reached inside and began pulling items out one by one, terrified he might damage something precious. His eyes grew wider with each new discovery.
"By my beard…" he mumbled, his voice a mix of shock and awe. "Hollowhide Tapir… its pelt is as tough as iron," he breathed, his fingers tracing the coarse fur. "Cindermoss Pangolin… look at these scales, they still hold the heat of the volcano! And this… a Twilight Gravecrow feather? These are nearly impossible to find intact!"
He continued to pull out treasure after treasure, naming them in a reverent whisper. "Mycospine Ursid claw… Skyripple Caracal fang… Verdigris Darter wings… a whole set of Lanternback Tarsier bones… Bramblehide Cervid antler… a Frosttongue Varanid hide… and… a Chittering Rootwretch heartstone!"