The crate, a monstrous block of petrified Yavana wood banded with dark Dharman steel, dropped onto the flagstones with an earth-shaking thud. Not from the impact, but from the sudden, sharp twist of his gut. The tainted aqueduct water knotted his bowels. He pressed a hand to his belly, leaning back into a fluted pillar to seem casual while the morning glare blurred at the periphery. Today was going to be a long day.
Hundreds had poured onto the flagstones—novices, instructors, even cloaked Prana Weavers down from the high spires, all craning toward the crate.
The fortress commander signaled the two guards. With a simultaneous grunt, the two men leveraged heavy crowbars. The steel bands groaned, then snapped. Amber luminance seeped from the seams as the timbers groaned. The lid broke free, unveiling a blinding pillar of solidified radiance that set the mountain air humming.
“Behold the relic,” the commander said, his tone hushed. “Forged from a fallen star, testing the spirit of all who approach. Only the true bearer may lift it.”
A hush fell, broken only by the rustle of robes and the distant chirping of canyon birds. Sujan smothered his nausea behind a wide grin, fishing a spiced pastry from his pocket. He took an appreciative nibble; cumin and fried dough did little to mask the coppery tang burning his throat.
A youth pushed through the circle of novices. The lead swordsman strode forward, scarlet tunic still spotted with grime from the sparring ring, chin lifted high as the trainees parted.
“Commander,” the youth declared, his tone ringing off the battlements. “Spare us the ceremony. The blade belongs in my hands. My cultivation alone can withstand the coming rot.”
Skeptical murmurs stirred among the elders, but the juniors nodded in reverence; he had topped the rankings for three consecutive cycles. The young champion reached into the timber chest, fingers closing around the shaft of radiance.
[Dharma Wheel Chime: Karmic Merit Opportunity – Restrain hubris. Reward: +2 Soul Duration.]
Sujan blinked, almost dropping his samosa. *Two days? For that?* He wondered if the Dharma Wheel was messing with him. He was barely holding his breakfast down, and the wheel wanted him to sit back and watch an arrogant pup take a tumble? He suppressed a weak chuckle, which turned into a painful cough.
The boy grasped the beam. A shriek tore through the open air. The brilliant shaft flared, detonating in an amber discharge that tossed the top disciple backward through the air. He skidded across wet stone, tumbling into the drainage trough beside the fountain with an undignified splash. He lay there, unmoving, the grand pronouncement of his destiny ending in a humiliating splutter.
A collective gasp ripped through the crowd, quickly followed by a stunned silence. The commander stared, paralyzed. The radiant shaft rose out of the crate with a cheerful hum, curving into the open blue sky above the dumbfounded masters, tracing a bright arc over the assembly.
It dropped with an affectionate clack against Sujan’s scuffed leather boot. He paused mid-chew. The weapon settled against his instep, humming warmly like a purring cat.
[Dharma Wheel Chime: Divine Connection Established. Soul Prana Re-calibration Engaged.]
[Soul Duration: 247 Days.]
Sujan frowned. The Dharma Wheel was rarely this verbose. And his soul duration... it had just *lost* two days, not gained any. He felt a sudden, profound shift within him, not pain, but a deep, resonant vibration. The ancient relic pumped pure energy into his meridians, attempting to stitch torn spiritual pathways that no mortal weapon could mend.
A low murmur swept through the crowd, quickly escalating to shouts of confusion and alarm. Sujan felt a chill, unrelated to the poison, crawl up his spine. Sujan looked at his pastry-holding hand. The skin went completely translucent; through his knuckles, grey flagstones showed clearly. The internal fraying of his spiritual vessel was leaking into the open daylight.
His whole torso wavered like heat haze over dry sand. The sword's divine force strained against his cracked core, turning his failing spirit into an undeniable spectacle. His grin collapsed into bared teeth as agony tore through his ribs.
When his vision cleared, the ghostliness faded, but the damage was done. Trainees stood frozen. The fortress commander gaped in disbelief. Near the fountain, the sodden disciple hauled himself out of the drainage muck, glaring across the square.
Every clever quip dried up. The harmless support-buff routine was shredded. At his toes, the divine steel thrummed with stubborn loyalty.
He had planned to stay in the shadows, to guide and nudge, to save from behind the scenes. But the Suncleaver had made its choice. And now, so must he.
He reached down, grit his teeth against the cramps in his stomach, and gripped the hilt. Solar fire erupted down the edge, blinding white washing across the fortress walls.
The drenched disciple scrambled upright, shrieking across the open space, “Who are you?!”
Sujan surveyed the frozen onlookers, the stunned instructors, and the burning metal in his fist. The cheerful boy was gone; cold, battle-tested steel settled over his features.
“Someone running out of time.”