Sujan drew a slow breath, the scent of stale flour and roasted cumin faint in the kitchen air. The ache in his chest remained a steady thrum behind his ribs, demanding haste. “Aura Buffer Sujan! Report to the Obsidian Gauntlet immediately! Squad Beta is forming!” The sharp voice of an overseer boomed through the fortress vox-system, rattling teacups against their pine shelves. Sujan flashed a wide, disarming smile at a nervous kitchen apprentice, gave a theatrical salute, and trotted out, humming a jaunty tune. The Obsidian Gauntlet was one of the larger combat grounds, a sprawling complex of trial vaults carved into the mountain rock. Today’s drill pitted five-man squads against conjured miasma echoes within an array-bound ring. He arrived to find Squad Beta already assembled, four ascendants barely sparing him a glance. Jarek stood at their head, his dark Drukshian steel blade, ‘Shadowfang,’ strapped across his back while his foot tapped the flagstones. He swept his chin toward Sujan with a dry smirk. “Took your sweet time, Buffer,” Jarek drawled. “Perhaps you were polishing your skillet for today’s trial?” A ripple of snickers went through the squad. Sujan merely grinned, pulling a small, intricately carved wooden flute from his tunic pocket. “Ah, but what’s a hero without a theme song, eh, Jarek? Don’t worry, I’ve composed a little ditty just for your glorious charge.” He winked, earning a sneer from Jarek and flat stares from the others. “Focus, everyone,” Drillmaster Vanya, a burly woman with a scarred brow, barked across the paving stones. “Remember your roles. Sentinels, maintain perimeter. Spellweavers, strike weak points. And Buffers…” She paused, her gaze settling on Sujan, “...keep their reserves steady. This is a level-three containment trial. Aggression factor is high.” Inside the arena vault, the air grew thick with the metallic tang of conjured taint. Twisted, ephemeral forms of ‘Skitter-Spines,’ multi-limbed horrors from the outer wastes, materialized in bursts of ash. Jarek shouted, darting forward as Shadowfang cleaved through the first wave with crisp cuts, leaving smoldering motes where the constructs dissolved. The other offensive trainees struggled to keep pace. Sujan, meanwhile, climbed a broken granite balustrade, well clear of the engagement. He lifted his wooden flute, tilting his head as he blew a bright, tumbling melody into the damp air. As the notes rolled over the vanguard, a faint amber shimmer coated their shoulders. Their boots sprang off the tiles with extra lift, their blades snapped forward half an inch faster, and their stances locked down tight. [Karmic Merit Acquired: Minor Aura Reinforcement. +1 Merit.] Jarek, absorbed in hacking down illusions, merely grunted as if the surge were his own genius. Sujan let his gaze wander past the boy's swinging blade. The arena was rimmed by tall barrier monoliths casting a tranquil cyan glow to contain the tainted constructs. Yet one pylon near the far arch sputtered like a dying wick. He saw her then. Nyra, a trainee who kept entirely to herself, knelt behind a collapsed lintel. Her fingers scraped along the base of the stone obelisk, shaking gray powder from a leather pouch onto the carved inscriptions. As the grains touched the channels, the blue glow choked down to a thin, shivering thread. Sujan vaulted down from the balustrade before the containment monitors signaled an interruption, his boots hitting the stone without a click. He dropped right beside Nyra, clapping her firm on the shoulder with an easy chuckle before she could tuck the open pouch beneath her sash. “Aha! Nyra, my dear, you’ve found it!” he exclaimed, projecting his voice toward Vanya. “Excellent! I knew your keen eyes would spot the rare Veridian lichen even in this soot!” Nyra froze, teeth set tight against her lower lip. Vanya marched over, boots crunching on masonry chips as her gaze cut between the girl's chalky knuckles and the dimming obelisk. “Veridian lichen?” Vanya asked, hands resting on her belt. “Buffer Sujan, this is a field drill, not an herb stall. And Nyra, why are you crouched against a critical containment pylon?” Sujan beamed. “Crucial preparation, Drillmaster! My restorative broth requires fresh moss scrape. It sprouts where concentrated Prana meets mock rot—right on these foundational stones! Nyra was gathering a pinch before the constructs reached this corner. Right, Nyra?” He dragged his cuff across the runic groove, wiping the powder into his dark sleeve. Nyra managed a tight nod. “...Yes, Drillmaster. For his broth.” [Karmic Merit Acquired: Deception for Benevolence. +5 Merit.] Vanya watched them both as the obelisk cleared its rune-paths, the azure pulse evening out. “Very well,” the woman said. “Next time, buy your broth greens from the commissary. Back to your stations.” She marched toward the front line with a wary backward glance. Nyra watched Riven go, then turned to Sujan, her usual scowl returning, though tinged with something else – confusion. “Why?” she muttered, her voice low. “Why did you do that?” Sujan offered a grin. “To harvest ingredients, of course! You look famished. How about a bowl of pepper curry in the mess hall after drill? On my tab.” He jogged back toward the clearing, tapping the flute against his palm, leaving Nyra clutching her half-empty pouch against her ribs. Later, in the dining hall, the scent of turmeric and roasted cloves cut through the sweat of eighty tired novices. Sujan brought a steaming bowl to Nyra’s bench, loaded with lentils and simmered tubers. She lifted her spoon cautiously, tasting the rich broth before taking longer, deliberate swallows, her mouth relaxing from its chronic frown. A bench over, Jarek held court, recounting his kills with heavy gestures. A novice, Vayu, squeezed past and clipped the prodigy’s elbow, sloshing honeyed wine onto the polished bench. “Watch your feet, cur!” Jarek barked. He grabbed Vayu’s collar, hauling the smaller boy up so his toes dragged on the floor. “Clean that up with your sleeve before I break your fingers!” Two cronies laughed, while Vayu hung rigid, gasping. The nearby benches quieted. Sujan stepped away from a cluster of trainees, his hands tucked behind his waist and his smile steady. He ambled past the commotion, faked a trip on an uneven flagstone, and let out a startled yelp. In that stumble, the toe of his cloth shoe drove hard into the peroneal groove behind Jarek’s left knee. Jarek’s grip gave out. Vayu tumbled to the floor and scrambled under the tables. Jarek pitched sideways, his knee buckling until he slammed his hips hard against the trestle. His right arm dropped dead against his ribs, gray and unresponsive from deadened conduction. “Oh, my deepest apologies, Jarek!” Sujan chirped, catching his balance. “Clumsy feet after all that running! Are you alright? You look pale!” He reached down as if to steady him, his thumb pressing the hollow behind the knee joint once more to lock the deadening for another quarter-hour. Jarek grunted, swinging his left hand across to grip his paralyzed sword arm. “You... you shoved me!” he hissed, trying and failing to close his right fist around his scabbard. Sujan widened his smile. “Me? I’m just a humble buffer with clumsy boots. You must have strained a tendon on those dummy monsters. Sit down, drink some tea, and give that shoulder an hour to rest.” He patted Jarek’s limp shoulder and strolled off to collect an extra flatbread. Night fell, casting long, inky shadows across the Shikara Citadel. Most students were asleep, or quietly studying. But in a secluded alcove, deep within the lesser-used training grounds, a faint, silvery light pulsed. Nyra, her face grim, knelt before a polished steel mirror, its surface swirling with a milky luminescence. She pressed her palm to the cold metal. “The wards are down; attack tonight.”

Pressure Points and Saffron Curry