The Awakening Stone didn't glow.
It drank light.
The massive quartz monolith in the sect's Heart Court absorbed the sunlight, the torchlight, even the eager gleam from the dozen disciples waiting their turn. It was a hungry, silent thing.
Zhou Kai placed his palm flat against its cold surface. A hush fell over the courtyard.
Nothing.
No radiant surge. No choir of celestial chimes. No dancing runes of gold or azure. The stone just swallowed the contact, turning a shade darker, like deep water drinking a drop of ink.
The elder overseeing the ceremony, a man with a beard like frayed rope, peered at the stone's base. Faint, grey script flickered and died.
"Soul Attendant," the elder announced. His voice was dry parchment.
A murmur rippled through the onlookers. Not laughter, not yet. Something worse: pity, followed by dismissive understanding.
Zhou Kai lowered his hand. The title hung in the air. Soul Attendant. A polite term for a cultivator whose spiritual role was to be passive, to hold space for others' power. A custodian. A human sheath.
"Receive your symbol," the elder said, not unkindly. A junior disciple stepped forward, bearing a plain, dark-brown leather sheath on a silk pillow. It was empty. No sword. No dagger. Just an empty vessel meant to hang at his hip.
Zhou Kai took it. The leather was smooth, worn. It felt lighter than it should.
Behind his ribs, deep where his nascent core should be, six somethings stirred. Not a flutter. A resonance. A low, silent hum that vibrated through the hollow places inside him.
He bowed to the elder, tied the sheath to his belt, and walked back to the line of newly-classified disciples. The empty sheath bounced softly against his thigh with each step.
Zhang Wei, a bulky disciple with a sneer already perfected, received his classification next. The stone blazed with furious orange light. "Flame-Spark Striker!" the elder called, louder this time. Zhang Wei pumped his fist, shooting a triumphant glance at Zhou Kai. His symbol was a short, wicked dao blade. It rang as he slid it into his belt.
Zhou Kai's sheath made no sound.
[Void-log initialized.]
[User: Zhou Kai. Class: Soul Attendant. Confirmed.]
[Primary symbol: Empty Sheath. Status: Operational.]
[Sheath capacity: 0/7.]
[Diagnostic: Qi signature negligible. Public assessment: Accurate.]
[Private assessment: Incomplete.]
[Awaiting first forge.]
The words appeared in the lower edge of Zhou Kai's vision, etched in faint, void-purple light. They were transparent, persistent. He didn't flinch. He'd been seeing faint, ghostly impressions for a week—since the night he'd awoken from a dream of falling through silent, starless space. This was just clearer.
The classification ceremony ended. Disciples broke into chattering groups, comparing symbols, laughing, making plans. Zhou Kai was assigned.
"Mining Corps, Deep Vein Seven," the taskmaster barked, reading from a scroll. "Report to Foreman Bo at dawn. Your attendant's passivity may soothe the earth spirits. Maybe you'll find a decent spirit stone."
It was a dismissal. A life sentence of hard, Qi-draining labor in the dark.
Zhang Wei clapped him on the shoulder, too hard. "Don't worry, attendant. I'm sure the rocks will appreciate your company." His friends chuckled.
Zhou Kai just nodded. He touched the empty sheath. The void within it—a space he could feel but not explain, a pocket of absolute stillness—echoed back.
Hold, it seemed to whisper. Contain.
Dawn at Deep Vein Seven was just a darker shade of night. The entrance was a jagged maw in the mountainside, exhaling air that smelled of damp rock and cold metal. Foreman Bo was a block of granite with a voice to match.
"You. Attendant. That way." He pointed a thick finger down a narrow, lantern-lit tunnel. "Your job is to sit at the end of Gallery Twelve. Your 'soothing presence' is supposed to reduce rockfalls. Don't touch anything. Just sit."
Zhou Kai walked. The tunnel swallowed the light from the sparse lanterns. The sounds of pickaxes striking stone grew faint, then disappeared. He found Gallery Twelve: a dead-end chamber with a low ceiling. A single glow-moss lantern cast pallid light. The air was still and heavy.
He sat on the cold floor, back against the wall. He closed his eyes.
Not to sleep. To look inward.
Where others had a swirling core of Qi, he had… a nexus. A calm, dark center. And around it, six indistinct shapes, sleeping. One of them was closer to the surface than the others. It felt patient. Heavy. Immovable.
[Proximity to earth element: maximum.]
[Conditions for first forge: met.]
[Initiate soul-fragment forging? Y/N]
Zhou Kai took a breath. In his mind, he reached for the heaviest, most patient shape.
Yes.
The world didn't shake. No light erupted.
The air in front of him thickened. It coalesced, drawing dust from the floor, minute minerals from the air, and something from Zhou Kai's own spirit—his endless patience during training, his silent endurance of taunts, his acceptance of the empty sheath.
A figure took shape.
It was his height, his build, but sculpted from something smoother than flesh. Its surface was the color of polished river stone, with subtle seams like geologic strata. It had no discernible face, just a smooth plane where features would be. It wore simple, stone-colored robes. In its hand was a blade that wasn't quite a sword, not quite a pickaxe—a sharp, wedged tool of dark grey rock.
[First forge complete.]
[Blade: Stone. Manifested.]
[Sheath capacity: 1/7.]
[Synergy unlocked: Earth sense.]
Stone turned its smooth face toward Zhou Kai. It did not speak. It didn't need to. A wave of pure sensation flooded Zhou Kai's mind: the weight of the mountain above them, the slow grind of tectonic patience, the specific stress points in the chamber walls, the location of every loose pebble.
And a simple, wordless intent: Work?
Zhou Kai, his own body suddenly feeling fragile and light, gave a single nod.
Stone moved.
It didn't walk to the chamber wall. It simply became part of it for a moment, flowing into the rock. The sound that followed wasn't a crash. It was a deep, grating shush, like a giant slab of butter being sliced. A section of the wall, rich with faintly glowing spirit ore, slid free and landed with a soft thud on the floor, perfectly cut.
Stone emerged from another wall, its tool-blade already sweeping in a smooth arc. Another block of ore fell. Its movements were efficient, silent, and impossibly precise. It didn't fight the mountain. It negotiated with it. The rock seemed to part willingly.
Zhou Kai watched through his own eyes, but also through Stone's. He felt the satisfying cleave through sedimentary layers, the coolness of unexposed stone. He felt no strain. Only purpose.
An hour passed. A neat stack of spirit ore blocks, each uniform in size, sat in the center of the chamber. A week's quota for a full team, done alone.
Stone finished. It stood motionless before Zhou Kai, its task complete. Then it bent down. Its stony fingers plucked a single, fist-sized stone from the debris—not spirit ore, just common granite. It worked its thumb over the surface for a long moment.
When it offered the stone to Zhou Kai, it was perfectly smooth. Warm from friction.
A gift. Not spiritual. Just smooth.
[Stone Blade efficiency: 187%.]
[Rocks cooperate.]
Zhou Kai took the smooth stone. It fit perfectly in his palm. "Thank you," he whispered, the words loud in the silent chamber.
Stone inclined its head. Then its form dissolved, not into light, but into a shower of fine dust that flowed not onto the floor, but into the mouth of the empty sheath at Zhou Kai's hip. The sheath didn't bulge or change. It just… accepted.
[Blade sheathed.]
[Sheath status: empty. (1/7 held in void-stasis).]
A profound weariness washed over Zhou Kai. It was spiritual, not physical. A deep drain. Forging and maintaining a Blade had a cost. He leaned back against the wall, breathing slowly, clutching the smooth stone.
Foreman Bo's disbelief was a physical force when he visited Gallery Twelve at shift's end. He stared at the stacked ore. He checked his ledger. He stared again.
"This… this is impossible." He looked at Zhou Kai's clean robes, his unmarked hands. "How?"
Zhou Kai held up his smooth stone. "I listened to the mountain. It showed me where the stress was."
It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
Bo, a practical man, shrugged. The ore was real. His quota was surpassed. "Fine. Good work, attendant. Maybe you're not useless after all." He marked his ledger and left, muttering about earth spirits and luck.
The walk back to the outer disciple dormitories was long. The sunset painted the sky in shades of fire. Zhou Kai felt the empty sheath against his hip. He felt the smooth stone in his pocket. He felt the silent, resting weight of Stone, stored in the void.
He felt… something other than emptiness.
The feeling died at the dormitory gate.
Zhang Wei and two others were lounging by the entrance. They'd been "practicing," which meant scorching a training post with amateur fire techniques. Zhang Wei's eyes locked onto Zhou Kai's clean hands and unruffled clothes.
"The miner returns," Zhang Wei said, pushing off the wall. "No dust? No sweat? You must have a real talent for sitting, attendant."
His friends grinned.
Zhou Kai tried to walk past. "I did my job."
A hand shot out, barring his way. "Did you?" Zhang Wei's gaze dropped to the empty sheath. "Let me see your symbol. Maybe I missed something."
Before Zhou Kai could react, Zhang Wei's fingers closed around the sheath, yanking it roughly. The leather cord held. A jolt, cold and sharp, lanced through Zhou Kai's spirit. It was an invasion.
[Warning: Unauthorized grasp on sheath conduit.]
[Spiritual contamination risk: low.]
[Blade stability: unaffected.]
Zhou Kai's patience, the vast well Stone was forged from, finally cracked. A sliver of something harder surfaced. He didn't shove. He didn't shout. He simply placed his hand over Zhang Wei's wrist. His touch was cold.
"Let go."
His voice was quiet. Flat.
Something in his eyes—maybe a flicker of that void-purple from the log, maybe just the absolute lack of fear—made Zhang Wei hesitate. For a second, the bully saw not a weak attendant, but a deep, dark well. He snatched his hand back as if burned.
"Freak," he muttered, covering his confusion with bravado. "Your hands are clean, attendant. Too clean. You don't work at all."
Zhou Kai straightened his sheath. The cold fury settled, becoming another layer of patience. He met Zhang Wei's eyes.
"I work smart."
"You're a waste of a classification," Zhang Wei spat. "An empty sheath. A joke."
[Direct insult to core identity logged.]
[Suspicion detected. Morale protocol engaged.]
[Recommendation: Demonstrate capability.]
The Void-Log's words pulsed calmly. Zhou Kai's mind was clearer. He looked at Zhang Wei. He looked at the bully's shiny new dao blade. He looked, inwardly, at the five other sleeping shapes orbiting his quiet center.
He thought of the smooth stone in his pocket.
"Tomorrow," Zhou Kai said, his voice cutting through the evening air. "At the sparring rings after first bell. You want to see what an attendant can do? I'll show you how I work."
The challenge hung, absurd. A Soul Attendant, challenging a Flame-Spark Striker to spar?
Zhang Wei's surprise melted into delighted contempt. "You want a public beating? Fine. Tomorrow. Don't forget your… tool." He jabbed a finger at the empty sheath.
Zhou Kai didn't answer. He walked past them, through the gate, and into the dim courtyard.
Alone, he sat on a bench under a gnarled pine. He took the smooth stone from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers. The memory of Stone's silent, efficient work played in his mind. The feeling of the mountain's patience.
He looked up at the first stars piercing the twilight.
[Next forge: Water Blade.]
[Prerequisite: Qi Condensation Stage 30.]
[Current stage: 1.]
[29 stages of empty sheath ahead.]
The path was impossibly long. A chasm of weakness to cross. He had one Blade. One silent, stony fragment of his soul. Against the world's expectation, against a bully's sneer, against the sheer weight of his own supposed uselessness.
He closed his fingers around the stone. Its solidity was an anchor.
From the void within the sheath, a faint, grounding resonance echoed back. Not a voice. A presence. Stone was there. Silent. Ready.
Zhou Kai stood up. The sheath was empty. His hand was full. His spirit, for the first time since the Awakening Stone drank the light, was not.
He had 29 stages to go.
He had a spar to win.
He had five more Blades to forge.
The void whispered its final, silent command for the night:
[Begin.]