In the Barracks
Rachel sat at Terra's bedside, one hand resting lightly over Terra's wrist as if grounding herself as much as checking for a pulse. Terra's breathing was steady now, slower than before, but the memory of her being hurled across the field still hadn't left Rachel's chest.
"She did too much," Rachel muttered, anger slipping through her voice despite herself. "All you did was ask a question. And it was a good one."
Terra's fingers tightened around Rachel's hand. "She's right," Terra said quietly. "This isn't our world. They don't play by our rules." A slow grin crept across her face, sharp and familiar. "But don't worry. I'll get my revenge."
Rachel let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and smiled. Terra hadn't lost her spark. If anything, it burned brighter."Then let's talk about this breathing technique she gave us."
Rachel lifted the stone slip and pressed it against her forehead. Information poured in all at once — pathways, cycles, frequencies. Her brows furrowed as she absorbed it."This technique uses far more refined paths than what that boy showed me earlier," she said slowly. "But it'll take longer to learn. And… there's room for improvement. A lot of meridians aren't being used at all."
Terra tilted her head. "So what, you think they're giving us defective product?"
"No," Rachel said, shaking her head. "I think it's exactly what I said earlier. It's more complicated. Slower to master. And we haven't even tried it yet — who knows how brutal it actually is."
Terra swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Let's find out."
She pressed her own slip to her forehead. Moments later, she sat cross-legged on the mattress and began the cycle. Almost immediately, beads of sweat formed along her forehead, catching the dim barracks light. Rachel watched closely, concern etched into her face.
Terra exhaled hard. "That's… fucking mad."
"What?" Rachel leaned forward.
"If the energy during the run felt cool and nourishing," Terra said, wiping her brow, "then whatever just moved through me was destructive. My whole body felt like it was vibrating — like it was tearing at my flesh and blood." She flexed her fingers slowly. "But I feel better. Like I can breathe clearer."
A voice cut in from the side."This breathing technique is called Echo Vein Breathing."
Rachel turned. It was the boy from the run.
The boy from the run leaned against a support beam, arms crossed. "Black-tier on its own. Yellow-tier when paired with its movement set."
And what I taught you earlier wasn't a technique at all — I simply opened the most efficient breathing path for you." His gaze was distant. "The body can do amazing things if you trust it."
Rachel met his eyes. "Why are you helping us?"
He sighed. "A pebble in the ocean."
She blinked. "What?"
"It doesn't matter whether I help you or not," he said flatly. "One pebble won't change the tide. Drop enough, though… maybe."
"Wow," Terra said, unimpressed. "Cryptic much?"
"The technique forces each breath to vibrate at a specific frequency," he went on, ignoring her. "That frequency creates uniform micro-tears throughout the body and accelerates blood flow. The danger comes when you stop following the instructions. Too slow — no result. Too fast — you tear yourself apart from the inside." He glanced around the barracks. "Overall, it isn't difficult. But by morning, we'll see how many candidates are still with us."
He turned and walked toward his bed, already slipping into meditation.
"Wait," Rachel called out. "Can we at least get your name?"
"If you're put on the same team as me," he said without turning, "I'll tell you."
He disappeared into the rows of beds.
Terra snorted. "Yeah. Real charming." She looked back at Rachel. "You should test it, but like he said — start slow. Find your tolerance."
Rachel nodded and settled into position. Carefully, she drew her first breath according to the manual. The air moved violently through her body, and she had never been so aware of breathing before. Its destructive nature was mild — restrained — so she continued cycling, drawing the breath deeper, letting it descend, then rise.
Not enough.
She inhaled again, faster this time. The frequency sharpened. Pain bloomed, traveling through her veins — not overwhelming, but impossible to ignore. She pushed through four full cycles before her body finally rebelled.
She stopped.
Her mind cut the connection instantly, as if protecting her from further damage. The numbness hit all at once — heavy, absolute. Rachel couldn't move a finger.
Terra looked over and shook her head softly. "You really do push yourself too hard."
She stood, pulled a blanket over Rachel, and adjusted it gently before returning to her own cultivation — breath steady, eyes sharp, already adapting.
Morning Comes
Morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
Some of the contestants stirred as the pale light filtered into the barracks. Others didn't.
Rachel pushed herself upright, her body screaming in protest as dull soreness flared through her muscles. She scanned the room, blinking once… then twice.
"Terra," she whispered. Then louder. "Terra."
She shook Terra's shoulder, urgency creeping into her voice despite the pain. "Terra, wake up."
"What—what?" Terra groaned, eyes barely opening. "Why are you shaking me?"
"There are like thirty dead bodies," Rachel said flatly. "But yeah, you could totally keep sleeping."
Terra sat up instantly. "Come again?"
"Look around."
Terra did.
Men and women dressed in black robes moved through the barracks with mechanical precision, zipping bodies into dark bags. No ceremony. No hesitation. Just efficiency. The air felt heavier now, as if the room itself had accepted the deaths as routine.
Rachel took a step toward one of the robed figures. "Hey—"
"I wouldn't suggest that."
She froze.
The boy from the run stood beside her, already adjusting his gear as if this were just another morning. "They don't talk much," he added. "Especially not to you."
"Why?" Rachel demanded.
"They're servants," he said simply. "Not even official members. And we're below them." He paused, then added, "Most of us are weaker too."
"That still doesn't explain why they won't talk to me."
He shook his head, already turning away. "You don't get it."
"Hey—hey, answer me," Rachel called after him.
He didn't stop.
Ignoring the warning buzzing in her chest, Rachel stepped forward anyway.
The nearest servant turned.
Their gaze locked onto hers.
Rachel's breath hitched. Cold sweat slid down her spine as something primal screamed at her to stop. To move back. To not take another step. The threat wasn't spoken, wasn't even expressed — it was felt, pressing against her instincts with suffocating clarity.
Death.
She took a slow step back.
Then another.
Only when she'd retreated several paces did the servant look away and resume their task as if nothing had happened.
Quiet laughter rippled through the barracks.
Children from the mystic families chuckled openly, some smirking, others shaking their heads. The boy sighed, rubbing his temples as if disappointed rather than surprised.
They were led out onto the training field soon after.
The guide was already waiting.
She paced in front of them, posture straight, presence oppressive. "As you can all see," she said coolly, "some of your counterparts did not make it to the morning."
She paused.
"Sad," she continued, lips curling faintly, "but necessary."
Silence swallowed the field.
"Well," she went on, clapping her hands once, "today is a new day. And with it, a new lesson." Her gaze swept over them. "Some of you may have noticed that the breathing technique takes a toll on the body."
A sadistic smile spread across her face.
"Unfortunately for you, that was just a teaser."
Rachel felt Terra stiffen beside her.
"There is a physical exercise that accompanies the technique," the guide continued, clearly enjoying the tension. Rachel glanced toward the back of the group.
The boy stood there, arms folded, eyes half-lidded.
He knew.
The guide reached into her ring and pulled out a stone tablet, swiping across it with practiced ease. "The slips I gave you yesterday have been updated," she said. "They now contain the physical portion of the technique."
She turned away. "That's all for today."
Then, almost cheerfully: "Happy cultivating."
A door opened behind her. She stepped through and vanished.
Terra leaned toward Rachel. "It can't be that easy," she muttered. "All we do today is exercise?"
Rachel shrugged, though unease churned in her stomach. "Let's try the routine," she said. "Then we'll know for sure."
They tap the stone slips to their foreheads.
The world vanishes.
Rachel feels herself pulled inward, not falling but drawn, as though her thoughts themselves have weight. When the sensation settles, she finds herself standing within a vast mindscape — endless and pale, the ground indistinct, the sky drowned in drifting mist.
A figure stands before them.
Shrouded in fog, yet unmistakably solid.
He wears a simple black robe, unadorned, loose enough to allow movement but tight where it matters. His body is compact, every muscle dense and efficient, not large but compressed, like coiled steel waiting to be released.
Without a word, the figure moves.
The first motion is slow — deliberate, almost gentle — then suddenly sharp, snapping through the air with terrifying precision. Fast where it must be fast. Slow where it must be slow. Each transition seamless, every shift purposeful. There is no wasted effort, no hesitation, no imbalance.
It is beautiful.
Strikes cut through the mist, each one threatening to shatter the space in front of him. The air ripples. The ground seems to hum beneath his feet. And through it all, his breathing remains perfectly synchronized with his movements — not forced, not loud, but present, as if the breath itself is guiding his body rather than the other way around.
By the time the sequence ends, heat visibly radiates from him in wavering distortions. His breath continues, steady and rhythmic, matching the fading tremors in the air… or perhaps the tremors are following his breath.
Before Rachel can decide which, the world tears away.
They are yanked back into their bodies as abruptly as they were pulled in.
For a moment, no one speaks.
Rachel blinks, heart pounding, still half-expecting the mist to be there. She looks at Terra. "We're… we're supposed to emulate that?" she blurts. "That's ridiculous."
Terra exhales sharply, still stunned.
Rachel shakes her head, then steps forward into an open space. "We'll never know unless we try."
She raises her arms, recalling the first movement as clearly as she can. Her body shifts—
Pain explodes through her arms.
"Ahh!" Rachel cries out as she collapses to her knees, the force ripping the breath from her lungs.
"Rachel!" Terra rushes to her side, grabbing her shoulders. "What happened?"
Sweat pours down Rachel's face as she gasps. "I—I don't know. I was about to finish it and then—pain. Like my muscles were in the wrong place. Like my body rejected it."
A familiar, calm voice answers from nearby.
"Surely you haven't already forgotten what the guide said."
They look up.
The boy stands a short distance away, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "The exercise is part of the breathing technique. Neither one is complete without the other."
Terra rounds on him. "Why didn't you say that earlier?"
He lifts his hands innocently. "How was I supposed to know you weren't paying attention?"
Before Terra can snap back, Rachel presses a hand to her arm. "I'm going to try again."
"Rachel—"
"I have to."
She pushes herself upright, ignoring the lingering pain. This time, she moves slower — painfully slow — every inch of motion deliberate. She focuses on her breathing, matching it to the movement as best she can.
Inhale.
Shift.
Exhale.
Step.
Terra watches, frowning. "Why is she going so slow?"
The boy's gaze never leaves Rachel. "How many breaths do you take in a minute?"
Terra blinks. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Exactly," he replies. "Breathing is something people never really think about unless they're out of breath. You never learned how to breathe — you just did it." He gestures toward Rachel. "What she's doing now — what all cultivators do — is tuning their breath to a specific rhythm. A pattern. That rhythm decides the effect."
Terra crosses her arms. "And?"
"For experienced cultivators, that part is easy. For beginners?" He shrugs. "It's hell. Especially when the technique literally vibrates your body."
Terra plants her hands on her hips, still glaring in the boy's direction.
Meanwhile, Rachel completes the first movement.
Sweat pours off her like rain, soaking her clothes until the fabric clings tightly to her skin. Her chest rises and falls in controlled, measured breaths, every inhale vibrating through her bones. Yet her eyes shine — clear, focused, alive.
Energy seeps into her muscles.
Not violently this time. Gently.
She feels it settle deep within her flesh, threading through strained fibers, lingering where the vibrations had torn microscopic wounds. The sensation is strange — not soothing exactly, but corrective, as if her body is being reminded how it is supposed to exist.
She shifts her stance, preparing for the second movement—
And stops.
Her body refuses.
There is no pain. No warning. Just resistance — absolute and immovable. Like pushing against an unseen wall. Rachel knows, instinctively, that if she forces it, something will snap. Not strain. Not tear.
Break.
"This is a slow process," the boy says calmly. "It's already impressive that you completed the first movement without collapsing. Rest. Try again later."
He turns away without waiting for a response, rejoining his group as they begin moving in practiced synchronization.
Terra jogs over. "How was it?"
Rachel stares down at her trembling hands. "Hard… but easy." She exhales slowly. "The movement guided the vibrations better than breathing alone. The excess force got expelled through the strikes, and afterward…" She flexes her fingers. "It felt like my body was injected with energy. It healed some of the damage while I was still standing."
Terra grins. "That's amazing. Rest up. My turn."
She steps into an open space and begins.
At first, Terra mirrors Rachel — slow, careful, deliberate. But as the seconds pass, something changes. Her breathing deepens, lengthens, slipping into a rhythm that isn't written anywhere on the stone slip. Her strikes slow further… until it looks as though she's barely moving at all.
Rachel frowns and steps closer.
Before she can reach her—
A shadow manifests behind her.
"Do not disturb her."
The voice is flat. Emotionless. Not loud — but absolute.
Rachel freezes.
She doesn't dare turn around.
As Terra completes the first movement, a faint gust of energy rises from the ground itself, spiraling upward and sinking into her body. The air shivers. Dust lifts and settles.
Then Terra moves into the second form.
Her strikes grow stiff, strained, imperfect — and only halfway through, she falters. The rhythm breaks. The energy disperses. Terra exhales sharply and snaps out of it, stumbling back a step.
The shadowy presence is gone.
Rachel rushes forward. "Are you okay? What was that?"
"What was what?" Terra asks, genuinely confused.
"Just now," Rachel says quickly. "That wasn't in the manual. You changed the entire movement. Energy was flowing to you. It looked like—" she hesitates, then exhales, "—like something out of an action movie."
Terra laughs softly. "Damn. Wish I could've seen it." She rubs the back of her neck. "I don't know what happened. I started the movement, then just… followed what felt easiest. The flow. Then I hit that wall you mentioned. No paths left. So I stopped."
Rachel studies her carefully, unease and curiosity mixing in her chest. "Let's rest," she says at last. "And tell me more about that 'flow' you felt."
Terra sits beside her, thinking. "Well…"
Meanwhile, at the Command Station
"Resonance on the first attempt," the guide murmurs, eyes fixed on the screen. "Impressive. If she had reached the third movement… that would have truly set her apart."
There is disappointment there. Subtle, but real.
A shadow coalesces beside her, spilling across the floor like ink. "When will the instructors arrive?" the figure asks. "I want someone stationed beside that girl at all times."
"They should arrive by nightfall," the guide replies calmly. Then, after a pause, she glances sideways. "But why such concern? The Touched are uncommon, yes—but not rare. She will adapt in time."
"I wasn't referring to her."
The guide stiffens.
"She will walk a path already carved," the shadow continues. "Others have walked it before. No—my interest lies with the other one."
"The other…?" The guide narrows her eyes. "If you don't mind me asking—what exactly are you sensing?"
The figure turns.
Its face remains hidden beneath the hood, yet the temperature in the room drops instantly. Breath fogs. The air thickens, pressing down on the lungs. The screens flicker. For a brief, terrifying moment, it feels as though the room itself is holding its breath.
"A seed."
The word lands like a verdict.
Then the shadow vanishes.
The pressure lifts. Air rushes back into the room. The guide exhales slowly, fingers gripping the arm of her chair tighter than before.
Her gaze returns to the screen.
This time, her expression is no longer disappointed.
It is wary.