Just as the silence began to feel absolute, broken only by the faint whisper of wind through unseen rocks, a small sound, rhythmic and steady, caught his attention.
Huh-huh, haaaa!
Qing Yao was training nearby, just beyond the edge of the house, a figure silhouetted against the dawn's muted light. She was balanced atop a jagged stump of petrified wood, her dull, practice blade resting against her shoulder, moving through slow, deliberate sword forms. Her eyes were closed, her face serene in its concentration. Her breathing was even, rhythmic, a quiet counterpoint to the sway of her hips and the precise pivot of her feet.
Her movements seemed clumsy at first glance, almost disconnected from the forms they were meant to represent. But only to the untrained eye. Dao Wei watched, a flicker of interest stirring behind his placid gaze. He saw what others wouldn't: she wasn't just performing a kata; she was adjusting, subtly, continuously, to the peculiar ley-tone of the land.
Each breath she took matched the low, resonant hum that vibrated beneath Aratta's soil, a frequency he had sensed but couldn't attune to. Her energy wasn't being drawn inward; it flowed differently. It rose from her heels, traveled up her legs, through her core to her chest, not a process of absorption, but one of synchronization. It was being pulled upward, in concert with the pulse of the earth beneath her. She wasn't consuming Aratta's energy; she was flowing with it.
Dao Wei narrowed his eyes, studying her movements, the subtle shifts in her weight, the way her chest expanded not just with air, but with a faint, visible resonance that mirrored the land's vibration.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he mirrored her breath. He shifted his posture, grounded his feet, felt the strange, insistent hum of the earth through the stone embankment against his back. He inhaled, allowing his chest to expand, not pulling inward, but reaching outward, upward, letting his body resonate with the rhythm of the land.
At first, nothing. Just the cold, clean sting of early air in his lungs, the familiar emptiness where his dantian should hum.
But then… something shifted.
It was an alien feeling, unlike any Qi cultivation he had ever known. It was like sipping heat from stone rather than drawing fire from a furnace. A dry, mineral warmth, not the usual liquid flow. His meridians didn't thrum; they burned faintly, a dull ache like overworked muscles. His skin felt tighter, stretched across bone. His bones themselves ached, a deep, structural protest, as if they were realigning themselves to a different magnetic pole.
And just like that, his body remembered it was alive. Dao Wei's vast reserves remained locked away. But it was listening. Beginning to receive this world's strange, resonant language.
A shiver ran through him, not from cold, but from the sheer novelty of the sensation. The cold, physical bite of the morning was gone, replaced by this internal, mineral heat. The silence that had frustrated him now felt like company, a vast, resonant presence acknowledging his small, hesitant connection.
He held his breath for a long moment, feeling the faint thread of earth-energy vibrate within him, then exhaled slowly, the mineral warmth receding, leaving only the lingering ache. He opened his eyes. Qing Yao was finishing her form, her breath still steady. She didn't open her eyes or acknowledge his presence. She didn't need to. He hadn't made a sound.
Dao Wei pushed himself up, the strange ache in his bones a subtle reminder of the morning's silent revelation. He stretched, a picture of relaxed ease, masking the internal recalibration happening within him. He walked around the hut, finding Qing Yao just stepping down from the stump, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
"Morning, Yao'er," he said, his voice calm, carrying just a hint of warmth. "Dancing with the earth?"
She opened her eyes, their clear gaze meeting his. There was no surprise at finding him there. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," he lied smoothly, offering a small, easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He gestured towards the stump. "Interesting technique. Syncopation, not absorption."
Qing Yao gave a small, non-committal shrug, but her eyes held a knowing glint. "You have to ask politely. Match its rhythm."
"Politely," he mused, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on the subtle flush on her cheeks from her exertion. He lowered his voice just slightly, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "And here I was, trying to force my way in. Clearly, I lack your delicate touch, Yao'er."
It was the kind of teasing that was so out of context, light, and edged with layers she might or might not choose to see. It acknowledged her skill, hinted at his own difficulties without stating them directly, and carried that undercurrent of charm that was simply part of his presence.
A faint smile touched Qing Yao's lips. "Some doors aren't meant to be kicked down, Dao Wei. Even for you."
"A humbling thought," he replied, straightening up, the easy smile back in place. "Perhaps you could give me lessons on politeness? My manners could clearly use refinement."
She scoffed lightly, turning to head back towards the house. "Your manners are fine. You just prefer persuasion to politeness."
"And where has persuasion gotten me this morning?" he asked rhetorically, falling into step beside her. The ache in his bones was still there, a faint hum beneath his skin. Persuasion had failed. Politeness, or Qing Yao's version of synchronization, had opened a crack, however small. He let the thought settle, an intriguing puzzle piece fitting into place.
The day unfolded slowly, wrapped in Arrata's perpetual twilight. The air remained heavy, the oppressive presence of the mountain-city above a palpable weight. No one saw the subtle shift in his posture, the faint awareness of the earth's pulse beneath his feet. He spoke little about his morning's failure or the minor breakthrough. It wasn't necessary. His presence, ever calm and collected, drew their focus naturally. He answered questions with brief, insightful replies, offered quiet direction where needed, and occasionally exchanged a look or a brief, teasing word with Qing Yao that seemed to hold a conversation entirely separate from the one spoken aloud.
He felt the thread of Aratta's energy faintly within him throughout the day. It didn't empower him, not in any combat-ready sense. It was more like a new sense, a low-frequency radar allowing him to feel the subtle movements and vibrations of the land itself. It was curious, intriguing, and utterly unlike anything he had encountered in all his travels from the Outside.
As nightfall, Dao Wei slept restlessly. The ambient energy of Aratta seemed to press in on him, amplifying the new, faint connection within his body.
He dreamed of standing atop a mountain cleaved in two, a jagged, impossible split that plunged into nothingness. The stone was ancient, grey, and scarred, runes with symbols that crawled like worms across the sheer cliff face, pulsating with a faint, internal light. The wind howled around him, cutting clean through his spectral form, carrying the scent of ozone and petrichor.
Before him, a woman stood tall on the opposite peak, separated by the yawning chasm. Silver-haired, her hair flowed like liquid moonlight in the impossible wind, her robe fluttering like torn silk against the dark sky. Her crown was made of shattered glass, and each piece caught light that did not come from the sun, but from the pulsating runes on the stone, or perhaps from the void itself.
Her eyes… he could not remember their color, only the profound, overwhelming sadness that filled them, an ancient sorrow that seemed to emanate from the very core of this land.
Thunder cracked, a sound born not of the sky, but of the fracturing earth. The mountain split further, the chasm between the peaks widening, revealing a glimpse into a horrifying abyss filled not with darkness, but with lightless stars, cold and silent.
Dao Wei awoke abruptly, bathed in cold sweat, eyes wide, throat dry. The oppressive darkness of the hut was absolute for a moment, replaced quickly by the faint, ambient gloom of Aratta's night. The dream lingered a bit longer, stark and unsettling.
Dao Wei sat up, the damp cloth of his simple tunic clinging to his skin. His heart hadn't raced; panic was still a foreign concept. But a cold, calculating focus had settled over him. The dream wasn't random. It felt like a direct communication, a consequence of his earlier attempt to connect with Aratta's energy. The mountain breaking… the chasm of lightless stars… the warning about the Outside.
And then, a slow understanding dawned, a recognition of the forces at play in this strange, unwelcoming land. Complex, dangerous, and full of secrets.
A slow smile spread across his face in the darkness.
Good, he thought. Finally, something interesting.
Dao Wei swung his legs out of his cot, standing silently. The faint ache in his bones had intensified slightly, the thread of connection he'd forged that morning now thrumming with a low, expectant energy.