“How?” Takhon’s voice was a dry rasp, the cold sweat now prickling his scalp. The thought of Sirin, her bright, gentle laughter, being erased by *him*, was a knife turning in his gut. His usual languor had vanished, replaced by a frantic tremor in his hands. He stared at the ancient scroll, propping his wobbly bed. “How do I… reach the immortal plane? I can barely climb a ladder without needing a nap.”
“*Oh, you’re finally listening, are we? Took a catastrophic, world-ending revelation to pierce that thick skull, eh?*” Chom’s voice, a grumbling echo from the scroll, lost a fraction of its usual scorn, replaced by a grudging urgency. “*First, you stop being a useless lump. Second, you start cultivating. And third, you stop asking stupid questions, because I’m not going to hold your hand through this. Your power is dormant, but it’s still *your* power. The first step, sleepyhead, is to start gathering proper qi. Forget those stale academy elixirs. We need the freshest, most potent qi, straight from the source. The monsoon rains are due tonight. We’ll start there.*”
Far from Takhon’s humble hut, in the serene Lotusbloom Gardens, Sirin knelt by the shimmering, pearl-white petals of the rare Silken Dewdrop lotuses. Her slender fingers trembled as she ran them over a dew-kissed bloom, her face pale beneath the soft glow of the moon-lanterns. A sharp, wet cough tore through her, forcing her to double over. A thin thread of crimson bloomed on her palm, quickly dissolving into the cool night air. She pressed a hand to her chest, where a dull ache throbbed, a constant companion these past few days.
Elder Rian, a man whose robes were as pristine white as his long, braided beard, watched her with narrowed eyes from a pavilion balcony above. “Still tending the lotuses, child? Even after your… setback with the Root-Testing ritual?” His voice was a silken whisper, backed by generations of noble lineage.
Sirin straightened, wiping her mouth discreetly. “Elder Rian. It is an honor to serve the Prasat Vidyadhara, even in humble tasks.” Her voice was weaker than usual, a subtle tremor in its lilt. She held out a small, intricately carved jade ornament. It glowed faintly with concentrated qi stored within. “I… I believe this will assist with the purification of the sacred spring before the deluge. A small offering, from my family’s dwindling reserves.”
Elder Rian’s eyes flickered to the jewel, then back to Sirin’s face, assessing her. The carving pulsed with a pure, untainted spiritual energy, far exceeding what a mere disciple should possess from ‘dwindling reserves.’ He knew its true cost, its origin. He knew what Sirin was doing. He also knew the price of defying Young Master Phan. With a slow, deliberate movement, he took the jade. “The spring will benefit greatly, child. Your dedication… is noted. The academy will consider your friend’s unusual Root-Test results. For now, he may remain.” He turned away, leaving Sirin to sink back to her knees, a faint, weary smile gracing her lips, even as another wave of pain washed over her.
Back at Takhon’s hut, the first rumbles of the approaching tempest echoed through the giant banyan tree. Rain began to patter, light at first, then growing into a drumming crescendo on the leaves. Chom’s voice boomed from the scroll. “*Get up, you slug! The storm doesn’t wait for your beauty sleep! There’s a roost of Crested Sky-Storks near the Eastern Peaks. Go secure one. We need its perch for maximum qi absorption.*”
Takhon groaned, pulling a thick woven blanket tighter around his shoulders. “A stork? Now? In this rain? Can’t we just… open a window? I’m sure some qi will drift in.”
“*Are you deliberately trying to get us all annihilated? You have 300 days, Takhon! Three hundred! No napping, no whining, just move that lazy hide!*” Chom’s tirade was relentless. “*Find a ‘Wind-Whisperer’s Crest’ stork. They’re attracted to nascent qi signatures. Yours is practically screaming.*”
With a sigh that felt heavy enough to conjure its own storm, Takhon dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on a rough, rain-resistant poncho and ventured into the downpour. The path up the root-carved mountain was slick, but the thought of Sirin’s smile, then the image of the entire mountain exploding, propelled him forward. He found the communal stabling caves, damp and smelling of wet feathers and earth. Several giant Crested Sky-Storks, their elegant, sweeping crests iridescent even in the dim light, preened nervously. Takhon approached a magnificent bird with feathers the color of storm clouds and a crest that shimmered with an ethereal, pale blue light.
As he reached out to stroke its neck, a figure darted from the shadows, tripping over a loose stone. A nervous yelp escaped Kiet’s lips as he stumbled, arms flailing, a small, intricate talisman clutched in his hand. He was on a collision course with the startled stork, which let out a piercing squawk of alarm.
Before Kiet could hit the ground, a hand, surprisingly strong and gentle, shot out and caught his arm. Takhon, roused from his near-drowse by the commotion, had reacted purely on instinct. He stabilized Kiet with one hand, while the other casually stroked the stork’s ruffled feathers, murmuring a low, soothing sound. The bird calmed almost instantly, nuzzling into Takhon’s palm.
Kiet stared at Takhon in silence. He’d expected an angry shout, perhaps a shove. Instead, Takhon’s gaze, though heavy-lidded, held no accusation. “Careful there, friend,” Takhon mumbled, his voice soft, almost drowsy. “The path is slick. Here.” He rummaged in a small pouch tied to his belt and pulled out a slightly squashed rice cake wrapped in a banana leaf. “You look like you need something to steady your nerves.” He offered it to Kiet with a small, unhurried smile.
Kiet’s gaze dropped to the rice cake, then to the sabotage talisman still clutched in his hand – a crude but effective ‘Qi-Disruptor’ meant to incapacitate Takhon’s chosen mount for the night. Phan’s orders had been clear: make sure the cripple failed the monsoon qi-gathering. But Takhon, the cripple, had just saved him, and was offering him food. The warmth of the rice cake in Takhon’s outstretched hand felt impossibly heavy. His heart lurched with a strange, unfamiliar conflict. Trigger the talisman and betray the only person who had ever shown him simple kindness, or betray Young Master Phan, the fearsome Naga-crest scion, and face his wrath?