Morning practice began before the sun cleared the eastern walls.
The disciples stood in rows on the stone platform, bare feet touching the cold surface. Master Halden walked slowly among them, his steps silent despite the gravel.
"Resonance," he said, "is not strength. It is alignment."
He stopped behind Vale.
"Begin."
The disciples inhaled together.
Vale guided his breath downward, following the familiar route. He felt warmth gather faintly in his dantian—thin, unstable, like mist that refused to condense.
Around him, others began to hum softly.
Low tones. Steady. Controlled.
Vale opened his mouth and released his own sound.
It wavered.
The vibration collapsed before it could anchor. The air around him remained unchanged, while faint ripples appeared around his peers—small distortions, signs of successful resonance.
"Stop."
Halden's voice cut through the practice.
Vale closed his mouth, face heating.
Master Halden turned to face the group. "Most of you are forcing resonance outward. That is acceptable at your level."
His gaze shifted to Vale. "But some of you cannot even force it."
A pause.
"Vale. Step forward."
Vale obeyed.
"What did you feel?" Halden asked.
"I felt… movement," Vale answered carefully. "But it wouldn't stay."
"That is not weakness," Halden said. "That is instability."
He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.
A sharp sound echoed.
Vale flinched as the vibration struck his chest—not painfully, but deeply, as if it bypassed flesh.
"Your resonance scatters because it has nothing to anchor to," Halden continued. "You hear sound, but you do not accept it."
Vale clenched his fists. "How do I anchor it?"
Halden looked away. "That is not something I can teach you."
The disciples resumed practice.
Vale returned to his place, his ears ringing faintly—not from sound, but from the absence of it.