The promise of learning to "sculpt the stone" filled Ren with a quiet, fierce anticipation. He had spent a month learning the weight of the world; now, he would learn to shape it. He arrived at the garden the next morning to find that the patch of dirt he had spent countless hours staring at had been replaced. In its place sat a simple, square slab of dark, unpolished granite, about a foot on each side.
Elder Tian stood beside it, his hands clasped behind his back. He did not waste time with pleasantries.
"You have learned to apply a single, continuous, and perfectly balanced thread of force," the Elder began, his voice crisp in the morning air. "Today, you will learn to wield that thread as a blade. Your task is to carve a single, straight line into the surface of this granite slab, one inch long and one millimeter deep."
He gestured to the stone. "You will not touch the granite. You will use the same method you used on the sand, but you will focus your kinetic force into a plane so thin it becomes a cutting edge. You will then move this edge through the stone. This is not a test of power. This is a test of continuity and pressure. Too little force, and you will not scratch the surface. Too much, and you will crack the slab. The line must be clean, the depth uniform. Begin."
Ren knelt before the slab, his mind already racing. This was an exponential leap in complexity. It was one thing to create a static field of force to counteract gravity. It was another entirely to create a moving, cutting plane of focused energy and guide it through a solid object.
He closed his eyes and reached out with his will. He didn't try to cut right away. First, he explored the stone. He used his refined senses to feel its texture, its density, the intricate lattice of its crystalline structure. He had to understand the material before he could hope to shape it. He spent the first hour just mapping the surface, feeling for its natural points of resistance and weakness.
Then, he began. He focused his will, gathering the ambient Aether and compressing it not into a blunt hammer of air, but into a sheet, an invisible blade of pure kinetic potential. He lowered this 'blade' until it just touched the surface of the granite.
He could feel the resistance immediately. It was like trying to push a knife through solid steel. He increased the pressure, feeding more of his will, more Aether, into the focused edge. A low, grinding hum filled the air, a sound that was felt more than heard. A fine powder, like dust, appeared on the surface of the granite where his invisible blade was pressing. He was abrading it, not cutting it.
He pushed harder. A sharp crack echoed in the quiet garden. A hairline fracture spiderwebbed out from the point of pressure, ruining the smooth surface of the slab. Failure.
He released his focus, his brow beaded with sweat. This was not about raw pressure. It was about resonance. He remembered the books from the archive, the obscure references to sonic weaponry used in the Rift Wars, weapons that shattered walls not with force, but with focused vibration.
He began again. This time, he didn't just apply a steady pressure. He introduced a microscopic, high-frequency oscillation to his kinetic blade. He tried to find the resonant frequency of the granite's molecular bonds, to vibrate them into submission, to persuade them to part rather than forcing them.
The grinding sound changed. It became a higher-pitched, purer hum. The dust of abrasion lessened. He pushed the vibrating plane of force forward, and this time, it sank into the stone. A line, thin as a hair, began to creep across the surface of the granite.
It was agonizingly slow. The mental effort was immense. He had to maintain the precise frequency of the oscillation, the exact pressure of the cut, and the perfect trajectory of the line, all simultaneously. A slight waver in his concentration and the line would veer off course or the depth would change. His mind became a laser, his will the energy that powered it.
He didn't notice the sun climbing higher in the sky. He didn't notice the Elder returning to stand behind him, a silent, unmoving shadow. He was lost in the cut. He was no longer Ren; he was the blade. He felt the journey of his will through the stone, the parting of ancient crystals, the severing of bonds that had held for millennia.
After what felt like an eternity, his blade reached the one-inch mark. He carefully, gently, withdrew the plane of force, releasing his focus with a shuddering gasp. The silence that rushed back in was deafening.
He opened his eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. There, on the surface of the dark granite, was a perfectly straight, clean line. He ran a hesitant finger over it. It felt impossibly fine, a surgical incision in the heart of the stone.
"The depth is 0.9 millimeters," Elder Tian's voice cut through his daze. "The deviation from a straight line is less than the width of a human hair. The pressure was inconsistent at the start, but you adapted. You learned. It is a flawed, but promising, first attempt."
The critique was, in the Elder's own way, the highest form of praise.
"You have proven you can sculpt the stone," the Elder continued. "But a sculptor does not only make lines. He makes curves. He creates images. He imparts his will onto the material, giving it form and meaning."
He pointed to a fresh, untouched granite slab that now sat beside the first one.
"Tomorrow," the Elder commanded, "you will carve a perfect circle."