As Ravian settled back into focusing on controlling the chaotic energy within him, something else caught his attention. It was faint at first, a flicker of sensation that hovered at the edge of his awareness, like the brush of cold air against the back of his neck. His brow furrowed as he focused harder, trying to make sense of it.
There, in the stillness of the room, was something different—an aura, a presence. It wasn't the wild, volatile chaos surging within him, but something more controlled. Subdued, almost as if it had always been there, lurking just beyond his senses, but he had only now begun to perceive it.
The energy was faint, barely noticeable, but the more he focused, the more he could feel it pressing in from all around him. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was there—constant, steady, waiting. His skin prickled, and his mind, still raw from the chaotic storm he had experienced, recoiled slightly. This energy wasn't like the chaos inside him; it felt different. Dangerous. Sinister, but... balanced in a way that unsettled him even more.
Ravian's breath hitched as the sensation grew, just momentarily, before fading into the background. It wasn't enough for him to understand what it was, but the awareness lingered. The more he tried to focus on it, the more it slipped through his grasp, like smoke on the wind, barely there yet undeniably real.
He felt a slight pull toward it, but he stayed cautious and didn't go any further. His body was still shaking from the chaotic energy, and whatever this was, he couldn't afford to explore it right now. There was a balance beneath the surface, a strange harmony, but it felt dangerous—like something controlled that could cause great harm if disturbed.
He pondered for a moment and decided he would explore it more slowly later.
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Heavy boots echoed in the chamber, reverberating off the cold, stone walls. Ravian sat still, his back against the rough surface, eyes closed, unmoving except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His fingers brushed the ground beneath him, feeling the grit, the coldness seeping into his skin.
The overseers stood at the entrance, their voices low, urgent. Words floated across the room, but they didn't pierce the quiet inside his head.
"We need results, and we need them now. The clan's elders won't wait much longer," one overseer said, his tone clipped, each word carrying a weight.
Ravian's body remained motionless, but his ears caught every syllable, each word cataloged without thought. His eyes flickered beneath closed lids, not opening, but listening, waiting. The coarse fabric of his tunic rubbed against his neck, and he shifted slightly—just enough to loosen it, to allow him to focus on what was being said.
"The energy is abundant here in Asraar, but what good is it if no one can wield it?" Another voice, sharper, angrier. "The elders are working on techniques, but we need something now. Something to prove this experiment isn't a waste."
A small exhale passed through Ravian's nose, barely noticeable. The words didn't stir him like they might have once. He was long past that. When they had first brought him here, seven years old, barely tall enough to stand eye-to-eye with the smallest of the overseers, every sound had cut through him—sharp, painful, confusing. He used to flinch, involuntarily, every time a voice rose, every time an order was barked. Not anymore.
Now, the voices were just… noise.
His left hand, hidden in the folds of his tunic, curled and uncurled slowly, fingers tracing the inside of his palm. A habit he'd picked up to stay grounded—to feel something physical while everything around him blurred. His other hand stayed perfectly still on the ground, dust gathering at the edges of his fingers. If anyone had been watching him closely, they would have seen the tiniest tremor run through his arm. Just once. Just for a moment.
But no one was watching him. Not closely.
"The basic techniques should be ready soon, but it's not like normal cultivation," the overseer said. "This energy doesn't submit."
Ravian's eyes opened just a fraction. The flicker of movement went unnoticed in the dim light. A breath later, his fingers stilled on the ground. That word. Submit.
The chaotic energy didn't "submit." That much was clear to anyone who had felt it coursing through their veins. He had seen it break others, watched as it thrashed through them like a wild beast tearing through a forest. But…
His fingers pressed into the dirt again, this time more firmly. There was something different. Something the others didn't seem to notice. He wasn't sure yet if it was real, or if his mind was simply reaching for patterns in the chaos. But he had felt it—beneath the violence of the energy, there was a rhythm. A pulse. Not submission. More like… direction.
The faintest movement crossed his face, a twitch of his lips that disappeared as quickly as it came.
He had learned early on to show nothing. To keep his eyes low, to keep his breath steady, to move only when necessary. Every moment here had taught him that to stand out was to invite danger, to invite the eyes of the overseers on him. And so, his face remained unreadable, his movements slow, controlled. But inside, his thoughts moved differently. Faster. Sharper.
Another overseer spoke, his voice dripping with irritation. "These kids don't have the luxury of time. The elders are trying to apply old methods, but this chaotic energy doesn't work like the elemental paths. If we can push these children to handle more chaos, we'll get ahead. Perfect solution or not."
Ravian's eyes drifted to the far side of the chamber, where the others sat. Hunched figures, some barely awake, some shaking. One boy scratched absently at his arm, his fingers leaving raw, red marks. Ravian's gaze slid over them without pausing. No sound escaped him, no movement to suggest he cared, but his mind cataloged them all. Who could stand, who couldn't? Who might last? Who wouldn't?
His fingers tightened into a fist, the dirt cold and dry against his knuckles.
They all wanted to survive, but most of them were barely managing to exist. They pushed the energy out, tried to purge it from their bodies as fast as it entered. That's how they had been taught, and that's all they knew. But Ravian had felt something different. When the energy coursed through him, when it dug its claws into his veins, he didn't push it away. He let it move. He let it tear and burn. And beneath the pain, he had felt something else. Not power. Not yet. But something quieter.
He hadn't spoken of it. Not to anyone. And he wouldn't.
"They'll have to share what they're experiencing with the elders," the overseer said. "Their observations could be the key to unlocking the full potential of this energy. The more we understand, the faster we can develop usable techniques."
Ravian's gaze shifted back to the ground. His fingers uncurled from the dirt, now covered in a fine layer of dust.
"Share what they're experiencing?" He blinked slowly, the smallest movement of his lips barely visible in the shadow.
They didn't understand. The elders, the overseers—they were looking for a force to control. They wanted to break the chaos, mold it into something recognizable, something useful. But they didn't see what he had just begun to glimpse. He didn't fully understand it yet either, but the energy felt different to him. It wasn't something to be broken or bent to their will. There was something else to it, something he would have to explore slowly. And he wouldn't share that. Not yet.
"They're the only ones who can survive this energy," another overseer sneered. "The clan's precious young masters wouldn't last a second. These bastards may be crude, but at least they're cheap."
Ravian's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking briefly toward the overseers before dropping back to the ground. Tools. That's all they were. All they'd ever be. His hand flexed once, then went still.
Patience. He needed to be patient.
For now, it was best to wait, watch, and learn. If the opportunity came, he'd be ready to seize it. Even if it took decades, he'd wait. All he had to do was improve and endure—and enduring wasn't so hard anymore.