Yuki lowered himself into the lotus position, spine straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. His breaths slowed, steady and deliberate. Each exhale seemed to bleed away fragments of the storm that still lingered in his chest; each inhale drew in the silent energy of the void surrounding him.
At first, it felt absurd—sitting in an empty space conjured by a crow-winged shadow of himself, pretending tea was real, pretending this was more than a trick of the subconscious. But soon… something shifted.
The silence wasn't silence anymore. Beneath it thrummed a hum—faint, like the distant beat of a colossal heart. The void around him wasn't empty; it was heavy, dense with unseen threads. And those threads… they tugged.
Faunus's voice echoed calmly. "Do not resist. Breathe. The first step of cultivation is not power. It is surrender. You are not seizing the world's energy; you are letting it seep into you."
Yuki obeyed. He inhaled again.
And this time, he felt it.
The air wasn't just air—it was alive. Fine strands of something invisible poured through his nostrils, slid down his throat, entered his lungs, and from there seeped into his blood. They burned—not painfully, but sharply, like fire disguised as warmth.
Yuki gritted his teeth.
"Good," Faunus whispered. "That burn is the taste of reality's marrow. Mana. Prana. Qi. Call it whatever you want—names don't matter. What matters is that you are no longer an observer. You are a vessel."
The warmth spread. His veins lit up like glowing rivers, each vessel carrying liquid flame. His heartbeat quickened, pumping faster, harder. His body shuddered, caught between ecstasy and torment.
Then—he heard it.
A rush of whispers. Countless voices, faint but insistent. They weren't words, not exactly, but impressions: of storms birthing lightning, of mountains splitting, of oceans collapsing into themselves. Yuki's mind swam, torn between awe and madness.
"Don't drown," Faunus warned, his tone suddenly sharp. "This is where most die. Anchor yourself. Anchor!"
Anchor. The word struck like a command. Yuki clung to it.
He remembered Aoi's smile—the inexplicable peace in her dying face. He remembered Carl's grin before his death. He remembered the weight of betrayal, loss, and endless wandering. Those memories weren't burdens now. They were anchors. Stakes hammered into the ground of his soul.
The whispers dimmed, settling into a low murmur. The fire in his veins stabilized, no longer wild but pulsing in rhythm with his heart.
Then came the second wave.
It wasn't warmth this time—it was cold. A piercing, merciless chill. It coiled through his body like liquid ice, clashing violently against the fire. His chest seized. His muscles convulsed.
Yuki gasped, but no sound came out. The void itself seemed to fold inward, crushing him. His vision blurred, and for a moment he thought he was dissolving into nothing.
But Faunus's voice cut through again. "This is the test. Fire and frost. Creation and annihilation. If you cannot balance them, you will be shredded apart."
Yuki forced himself to focus. He felt the heat surging in his right arm, the cold slicing through his left. His veins felt like rivers colliding, flooding, exploding.
Balance…
He imagined a scale. On one side, fire blazing uncontrollably. On the other, ice devouring endlessly. Slowly, painstakingly, he willed them to meet in the middle. To intertwine rather than destroy.
And then—something miraculous happened.
The fire and ice did not cancel each other. They fused. The clash birthed a third force—a gentle radiance, neither burning nor freezing. It spread through him, filling every crevice, every cell, until his body felt weightless. His heartbeat slowed, steady, like a drum echoing through eternity.
The whispers in his mind harmonized into a single tone—a low, resonant chord that seemed to hum with the rhythm of the universe itself.
For the first time, Yuki wasn't just Yuki. He wasn't even Faunus Linwood. He was something vast, something that touched the threads beneath reality.
He opened his inner sight.
And he saw it.
An ocean. Infinite and boundless, stretching in all directions. Its waters shimmered with starlight, and every droplet within it carried the essence of worlds—birth, decay, destruction, rebirth. This was the reservoir from which all magicians drank, the origin of all miracles.
Yuki floated at its edge, his soul tethered by a thin golden thread. One tug, and he could plunge in forever.
But he did not leap. Not yet.
Instead, he cupped his hands together, and a single droplet rose from the ocean, shimmering like liquid crystal. It drifted toward him, settling into his palms, and dissolved into his chest.
The moment it entered, his body roared with power. His aura flared, invisible yet crushing, and the void trembled as though bowing to his presence.
Faunus's voice was quiet now, reverent. "You've done it. You've taken your first step into cultivation. No longer a shadow, no longer a vessel. From this day forward, you walk the path of dominion."
Yuki opened his eyes. They glowed faintly—one with a flicker of flame, the other with a shimmer of frost. Yet behind both burned a sovereign's will.
He exhaled slowly. The void calmed. The whispers retreated.
He had survived.
No—not survived. He had ascended.