Support me on patreon.com/c/Striker2025
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
POV: Arthur Snow
Location: Wolfsblood Ridge – Dawn Clearing
The mist refused to lift.
It clung to the ridge like an old sorrow, veiling the clearing in a silence that was not peace, but stillness before something began. Arthur stood in the center, arms folded, his breath steady against the chill. Around him, seven figures sat or knelt in imperfect poses—backs too tense, fingers twitching, minds scattered but trying.
Yet something had changed.
He felt it beneath the surface—fragile, faint, but unmistakable. The breath had begun to deepen. The qi was stirring.
This was not a time for praise.
It was a time for correction.
Arthur moved first to Garron, who sat like a mountain bound in iron, steam rising from his skin as the heat of awakening qi worked through his flesh. Arthur knelt beside him, pressing two fingers to the warrior's forearm. Beneath the skin, he felt the resonance—slow, heavy, unrefined.
"Your qi is gathering," Arthur said, calm and flat. "But it's crude. Like molten iron without a mold." He rose, plucked a scroll from his belt, and tossed it into the frost at Garron's feet. "Iron Bone Method. Strengthen the skeleton. The muscles come later."
Garron frowned. "You want me to harden my bones?"
"Break them first," Arthur replied. "Reforge them with qi. Done right, swords won't matter anymore."
The big man said nothing, but the set of his jaw changed. He was beginning to understand.
Sarra sat not far off, her legs coiled beneath her, breath sharp in her chest. Her qi moved like a predator—quick, alert, reactive—but wild. Arthur plucked a pebble and flicked it without warning. It tapped her wrist, breaking her focus.
"You're forcing it," he said as she opened her eyes, annoyed. "Speed is useless if it's predictable."
He handed her a thin manual—worn, but carefully kept.
"Phantom Fang. One strike. Make it count."
Sarra's eyes narrowed. "And if they block?"
Arthur didn't blink. "Then you weren't fast enough."
Thom sat beside a pile of chain links, his breathing slow and even. Arthur could barely feel his qi, not because it wasn't there—but because it didn't want to be found. Subtle. Clever. Dangerous.
He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You don't overpower. You undermine." Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a narrow case of polished wood and set it beside Thom. Inside, silver needles gleamed like moonlight.
"Black Needle Doctrine. Learn the body's secrets. Know which points end life—and which preserve it."
Thom held one needle up to the light. "Feels like assassination."
Arthur gave a slight shrug. "So does medicine. Difference is intent."
Redna was pacing again. She couldn't help it. Her qi danced around her in flickers, never still, like a flame in a high wind. Unstable—but promising.
Arthur followed her for a moment, studying the way her weight shifted, the subtle way her eyes tracked everything. "You move like a thief," he said. "Start moving like a ghost."
He dropped a set of iron-weighted anklets at her feet. They struck the frozen ground with a thud.
"Shadow Step. Train until the ground forgets you ever touched it."
She tilted her head, a crooked smirk forming. "And if I master it?"
"Then you'll vanish before steel ever reaches you."
Vaeren sat with eyes closed, fingers twitching like they were scribbling notes in air. His qi burned and sputtered, uncontained. Too much mind. Not enough instinct.
Arthur walked past, then stopped, pulling a small clay vial from his belt and tossing it into the boy's lap.
"Drink."
Vaeren sniffed it warily. "What is it?"
"Heat."
He swallowed, then winced as it coursed through him—burning from throat to spine. He nearly dropped the bottle, hands shaking as sweat prickled on his brow.
"Alchemic Furnace Canon," Arthur said. "You're the cauldron. Qi is your flame. Control it, or be consumed."
Vaeren groaned quietly, but he didn't throw the bottle away. Progress.
Lyanna moved alone, practicing sword forms in slow repetition. Her breath was steady, movements smooth—but something was off. Arthur watched her qi split down the center, one stream calm and firm, the other rushing and sharp. She was trying to be both storm and shore.
"You're a sword," he said as she paused. "And a shield. But trying to be both at once will break you."
She turned to face him, lips pressed tight.
Arthur handed her a scroll. "Twin Rivers Flow. Learn one current. Then chase the other."
Her grip on the scroll tightened. "What if I need both?"
He met her eyes. "Then you've already failed."
At the edge of the clearing, Maelen sat on a flat stone, still as winter. His qi was faint, almost non-existent. But beneath the stillness, there was depth—like deep water beneath ice.
Arthur knelt beside him.
"You're not a warrior," he said softly. "You listen. You connect."
He placed a wolf's fang—silvered and worn—into Maelen's palm.
"Beast Whisper Pulse. Listen to the wild. Speak in silence."
Maelen turned the fang slowly in his hand. "And if they answer?"
Arthur rose. "Then you won't be alone when the world breaks."
He stepped back, looking over the group. They had begun. Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But they had begun.
"This is the first gate," he said, his voice rising with the wind. "Qi Gathering. Feeling the breath inside and making it your own."
He let the words hang in the air like mist. Then he continued.
"The next gate is Opening the Meridians. When qi flows not in flickers, but like blood. When it fills you. Breaks you. Rebuilds you."
He waited.
"It will hurt. Some of you will think you're dying. Some of you might."
No one spoke.
"Train," he said finally. "Or don't. The world won't care. It doesn't wait. It doesn't forgive."