The North Dormitory of the Cloud-Step Academy was not the palace Blake had imagined when he first saw the floating islands. It was a rugged, wind-swept stone complex built into the side of a jagged cliff. The rooms were small, the air was thin, and the sound of the waterfall nearby was a constant, thundering roar. To the elite disciples of the Inner Sect, this place was a wasteland. To Blake, it was perfect.
As he walked through the heavy iron gates, he felt the eyes of the other Outer Disciples on him. They were a diverse group—some from fallen clans, others from the far reaches of the Southern Pass—all of them hungry for a chance to rise.
"New meat?" a voice called out.
Blake stopped. A group of three disciples were sitting on a stone bench, their blue robes stained with dust. The one in the center, a youth with a sharp nose and a 2nd-layer Vital Essence aura, stood up.
"I'm Jace," he said, eyeing the black-wrapped bundle on Blake's back. "You're the one who embarrassed Lu on the testing platform. Bold move. Lu is the nephew of an Inner Sect Deacon. You didn't just win a spot; you bought a target."
Blake didn't look away. "I didn't come here to make friends or enemies. I came to train."
"In the North Dorms, those are the same thing," Jace laughed, though there was a hint of warning in his eyes. "The Academy only gives out ten 'Ascension Pills' a month to the Outer Sect. We have three hundred disciples. You do the math."
Blake nodded and continued toward his assigned room—number 104. It was a spartan cell with a stone bed, a wooden desk, and a single window overlooking the void between the islands. He dropped his gear and sat on the bed, feeling the Vital Essence in the air.
It was richer here than in the market. He could feel his 1st-layer foundation greedily drinking in the surrounding Qi. But he didn't let it. He used his Internal Tempering to block the flow, forcing his body to survive on the purity he had already established.
The goal isn't just to be strong, he thought. It's to be stable.
The next morning, the bell for the morning assembly rang at dawn. The Outer Disciples gathered in the central courtyard, a wide stone terrace that hung over the abyss.
A middle-aged instructor with a face like weathered leather stood at the front. This was Instructor Goren, a 4th-layer Vital Essence master who specialized in the "Cloud-Step" foundations.
"Listen up, strays!" Goren barked. "Most of you think you're here to learn secret techniques. You're not. You're here to learn how to walk. If you can't control your weight, you can't control your Qi. Today, we begin the 'Weight-Bearing Trek'."
He pointed to a stack of iron vests lined with Spirit-Suppression stones. Each vest weighed nearly two hundred pounds, but more importantly, the stones within them would interfere with a cultivator's internal energy flow.
"Put them on," Goren commanded. "Ten laps around the North Peak. If you fall, you start over. If you use your Battle Spirit, you're expelled."
The disciples groaned, but they began to suit up. For most, the vest was a nightmare. Their 1st and 2nd-layer bodies were used to being light, using Qi to offset their weight. Without that crutch, they looked like toddlers learning to walk.
Blake stepped forward and picked up a vest. To him, this was familiar territory. It was lighter than the Gravity Seal Malachi had used, but the suppression stones were a new challenge. They felt like static in his meridians, trying to scramble his refined 1st-layer energy.
"Something wrong, wanderer?" Goren asked, noticing Blake staring at the vest.
"No, Instructor," Blake said, sliding the vest over his shoulders.
He didn't stumble. He didn't even grunt. He adjusted his center of gravity, sinking his weight into his heels, and began the trek.
The North Peak was a treacherous path of loose shale and steep inclines. Within the first hour, half the disciples were gasping for air, their faces purple with effort. Jace was among the front runners, his teeth bared in a snarl of concentration.
Blake was behind him, moving at a steady, rhythmic pace. He wasn't trying to be first; he was trying to be consistent. He used every step to practice his Void-Internalization, teaching his 1st-layer Qi how to flow through the "static" of the suppression stones.
[System Notification: Physical Conditioning +0.3. Internal Control +0.5.]
[Progress to 2nd Layer Vital Essence: 22%...]
By the fifth lap, Jace and the others were flagging. Their movements were jerky, their energy wasted in desperate bursts of speed. Blake, however, looked exactly as he had at the start. His breathing was deep and slow, his eyes fixed on the path.
"How..." Jace gasped as Blake moved past him on a particularly steep slope. "How are you... not tired?"
"I'm not fighting the weight," Blake said quietly, not even breaking his stride. "I'm making it part of me."
Goren, watching from a distance with a spyglass, narrowed his eyes. He had seen many "geniuses" come through the academy, but Blake was different. He didn't have the flashy aura of a high-born, but he had a terrifyingly solid foundation.
"That boy's 1st layer is as dense as an 8th-layer's bones," Goren whispered to himself. "Where did a wanderer find such a tempering method?"
The day ended with only three disciples completing all ten laps. Blake was the first, followed by Jace an hour later, and a quiet girl named Meiling shortly after.
As the sun set, the exhausted disciples collapsed in the courtyard. Blake, however, walked back to the equipment rack, removed the vest, and handed it to Goren. He wasn't even sweating.
"You're not done, Blake," Goren said, his voice less harsh than before. "The academy doesn't just want runners. We want warriors. Tomorrow is the 'Sparring Selection.' The top ten get to enter the 'Cloud-Library' for three hours. If you want those techniques, you'll have to fight for them."
"I'll be there," Blake said.
He returned to his room, but he didn't sleep. He sat by the window, looking out at the distant lights of the High Sect districts. He felt the Divine Reaper pulsing within him, a silent pressure that wanted to be unleashed.
Not yet, Blake told the spirit. We have to build the house before we can let the storm in.
He took out a small piece of dried meat from his pack and ate slowly, savoring the simple act. He thought of his father, of the dark room in the Sterling manor, and of the long bridge of light. He was far from home, surrounded by strangers, and facing a path that grew steeper with every step.
He felt more alive than he ever had as the "Golden Son."
As he drifted into a light, meditative sleep, he began to visualize the spars for the next day. He wouldn't use the Reaper. He wouldn't use the scythe's edge. He would use the weight he had mastered today.