He didn't know when it happened, but slowly, a different feeling began to surface, distinct from anything Sensei had described. It was faint, almost imperceptible, like coming into contact with something that had always been there, a fundamental presence he had habitually ignored or overlooked. It wasn't a hum, not a tangible energy, but more like a quiet awareness of his own internal architecture, a subtle resonance.
The feeling was incredibly delicate, hard to catch, but John couldn't help the surge of excitement. He was finally feeling something. Eager to grasp it, to solidify this nascent perception, John tried probing harder, pushing his awareness deeper. But it seemed this was his limit. The elusive sensation flickered, refusing to yield further progress, just beyond his reach.
Taking a deep, frustrated breath, John snapped his eyes open. He felt utterly drained, a profound weariness settling over him. A brief glimpse outside the window showed the sky had deepened to night. With that confirmation, his heavy eyelids succumbed, pulling him into a much-needed, exhausted sleep.
The second day arrived swiftly, finding the trainees assembled in the hall, each settling into whatever meditative stance felt most comfortable. For John, returning to this familiar space immediately confirmed his suspicion. As soon as he closed his eyes and attempted to meditate, he found it significantly easier to slip into that initial state of calm.
Faint murmurs rippled through the other trainees, a quiet acknowledgement that they, too, noticed the difference the hall's atmosphere made. Sensei, seemingly oblivious to their observations, did nothing new today. He simply repeated his previous day's instructions, then himself settled into a deep meditation, becoming a still, unmoving statue.
John, fueled by his discovery of the incense and the enhanced focus of the hall, quickly found yesterday's elusive sensation. This time, it was clearer, more pronounced. It felt distinctly localized, a subtle pressure or presence right at the base of his spine. To John, it was like a switch, a latent mechanism waiting to be activated. He just needed a flex of will, a specific mental command, for it to engage.
Eager and a thrill coursing through him—this being the first truly supernatural sensation he'd experienced since his rebirth—John focused his intent. With a deliberate mental push, he flipped the switch.
The feeling was immediate. The moment John "flipped the switch," a command seemed to ripple through his brain, and a part of his body began to produce something that plunged him into a profound state of calmness. It was an overwhelming sensation, almost too calm. Every emotion, every impulse, every fleeting thought was suppressed under an iron will. His mind wasn't just quiet; it was empty, a vast, silent void.
In this deep, tranquil state, John finally became aware of a subtle hum. It was precisely as Sensei had described—a gentle, internal vibration, a distinct resonance within his own body. John knew he should be excited, a profound breakthrough was happening, but in his current, perfectly serene state, excitement itself was an emotion held at bay. There was only the detached observation of the hum.
He turned his full, unburdened attention to it. It felt like his entire being had a fundamental resonance, and all he needed to do was align himself with that frequency. And so, he did. With a conscious act of will, John joined the resonance.
The instant he did, his aura, his very presence, shifted. His temperament settled into an eerie parallel with Sensei's—a profound, almost unsettling stillness, devoid of all but absolute control. Across the hall, Sensei's eyes, previously closed in his own deep meditation, snapped open. His gaze, sharp and assessing, immediately fixed on John.
Sensei rose with a fluid grace that belied his age, his footsteps silent as he glided towards John. The other trainees, still wrestling with their own minds, remained oblivious. Sensei stopped before John, his gaze sharp and assessing.
Just as Sensei approached, the profound calm that had enveloped John shattered. It wasn't a gentle fading, but a sudden, visceral jolt. In its place surged an overwhelming, all-consuming hunger. It wasn't for food, not for water, but a deep, gnawing emptiness that resonated through his very core, demanding to be filled. The internal hum, which had been so clear moments before, was gone, replaced by the insistent throb of this new, ravenous need.
John's eyes snapped open. He looked up at Sensei, forcing his expression into one of fatigued normalcy, trying to mask the internal turmoil and the sudden, ravenous emptiness that now consumed him.
"You found something, did you not?" Sensei's voice was a low, approving murmur, cutting through the silence of the hall. It wasn't a question, but a statement of undeniable fact, his gaze piercing John's feigned composure.
John swallowed, the hunger a dry, rasping sensation in his throat. He forced himself to nod, choosing his words carefully. "The... the hum. Yes, Sensei. I felt it. Briefly." He kept his voice even, betraying none of the internal struggle, none of the panic over the new hunger, or the incredible, unnatural calm that had preceded it. He made sure to emphasize "briefly," hinting at a fleeting, difficult experience, rather than a profound, controlled breakthrough.
Sensei's eyes narrowed slightly, a profound interest replacing his general impassivity. He didn't press John on the "briefly" or the sudden tension in his shoulders. His old gaze seemed to peer beyond John's facade, though he did not voice what he perceived. "The initial connection is often the most difficult, John. To feel the river of energy within. Now, the true discipline begins: to guide that river, to make it flow where you command. And to understand its demands."
He stood, his gaze sweeping over the other trainees, still struggling in their stillness. "You have taken a significant step, John. Tomorrow, we will not merely meditate; we will begin to understand how to guide that which you have awakened." He did not press John further, apparently satisfied with John's acknowledgment of the "hum."
John, maintaining his facade of serene breakthrough, kept his unique ability the "switch" and the abnormal calm and its immediate, draining cost a closely guarded secret.
For the next few minutes, stretching into an hour, John waged a silent war against himself. The hunger gnawed, a relentless internal void demanding to be sated, and a profound weariness threatened to drag him under. Every fiber of his being was focused on maintaining the illusion of normalcy, an immense effort to simply appear tired from meditation rather than on the verge of collapse from an awakened, secret power.
What John didn't know yet was that, to Sensei, who was now paying close attention, his current struggle was nothing short of a fascinating game. Nothing about John's aura or immediate physical response was truly "normal" in the way a typical trainee would react to a mere chi breakthrough. Sensei observed the boy's subtle shifts, the forced composure, the slight tremor in his hands when he thought no one was watching. The old man was in no rush to uncover the full truth.
One of the best parts about living for centuries was boundless patience. Sensei knew he would be spending many more hours, perhaps even days, confined with John as they continued the meditation sessions. That was plenty of opportunity to learn everything about the boy, to peel back the layers of his unique gift.
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