The portal closed, leaving nothing behind but a spray of golden mana sparks swirling in the wind. Yuze stood staring at where it had been, his face a mask of worry. He came to a moment later and smiled at Mags. “Gorb and Niamh hold tremendous power. Their bond makes them impervious to all but the strongest in the Coherent Realm.” He sighed and nodded his head, seemingly trying to convince himself. It did little to inspire confidence.

  “That mage was powerful,” Marek said. “And the soldiers too. They must have been close to Level 100, all of them.”

  Yuze’s brow furrowed. “Yes, but we must trust our friends. Without you there, Marek, they’ve no reason to fight them. Besides, this has been planned for longer than any of you have been alive. Enough talk—we need to ride.”

  Marek’s frown mirrored Mags’ own. “What’s been planned? Yuze, you’re not making any sense.”

  The monk ignored the question and trotted to Cinnabar’s side. Swinging up into the saddle, he pointed east and said, “Do you see the gap between those hills? That is where we are headed. Go, Marigold. Go at once and do not question me.”

  She glanced to Marek and Ashurai, both of whom seemed confused. Yuze had proven himself time and again, so in the end, she obeyed her Kiyashi and spurred Cinnabar. They galloped across a dusty plain, passing clumps of bushes and a few sun-scorched trees. Mags had no clue where they’d traveled or how, for that matter. Yuze had a waystone, whatever that was, and he’d brought them far from the Shirgrim Mountains. Far from Ardea too, she thought. I’ve never seen somewhere like this before—more sand than soil, and no proper trees in sight.

  Finally, her curiosity won out. “Respectfully, where the hells are we, Kiyashi?”

  Yuze hummed in her ears, his thin arms wrapped about her waist. “Only Ashurai is likely to recognize these plains. This, my dear, is Basar, gateway to the Far East.”

  “Far East? Only thing east of Basar is the Rift!”

  The old man sighed. His arms trembled slightly, and his weight sagged forward. In a voice scarcely loud enough to be heard over the drum of hoofbeats, he said, “That is quite the misperception, Marigold. Much and more lies to the east. Lands grander and richer than anything the Coherent Realm has to…” Yuze’s voice trailed off, his hands slipping from her waist.

  She felt his weight shift sideways, and she gripped his arms tightly. “Kiyashi!” she shouted. “Kiyashi, are you okay?”

  He’d lost consciousness, though his breath still warmed her back, proof the old man was alive. Securing him as best she could, she continued eastward toward the hills he’d indicated. Evening came quicker than she’d expected. Morning in Shirgrim, as it turned out, was afternoon in Basar. And after several hours of riding, she arrived at a low depression between the two hills, a small spring-fed pond in their midst.

  Yuze came to then. His voice was startled and a little embarrassed when he apologized for slipping away. “The waystone functions by linking the leylines. It provides the direction and possibility of travel, while the energy to do so comes from the one who uses it. I’m afraid I’m quite exhausted.”

  Mags helped him down from the horse and into his bedroll. It was strange, aiding the frail man who’d so recently destroyed at least a hundred warriors on the field of battle. Her Kiyashi was like that, always shifting about, unmoored in a way. As his eyes rolled shut, she watched his breath even out as sleep took him. What happened to you? she wondered. How can a man live so long and embody so many contradictions?

  Leaving him there, Mags joined Marek and Ashurai as they made camp near the pond. They asked about Yuze’s plans, but she could give them nothing tangible. Explaining what he’d said about the waystone, everyone agreed Yuze deserved some respite. They could speak with him in the morning.

  Ashurai and Rushi took first watch, and Mags crawled into her bedroll between Marek and Yuze, falling asleep beneath a starry sky that looked nothing like the one she’d known in Ardea. The next morning, Ashurai asked for a much-deserved explanation.

  Yuze giggled as he spooned out the last of his porridge. “East where the fire first lights the sky! East we ride, by and by!”

  “Come on, Yuze,” Marek pleaded. “We were on our way to Domhan Morga, then you portal us all the way to Basar! Now we’re… what? Riding around on this desolate plain for fun? Please, tell us what’s going on!”

  The monk’s smile melded into a scowl. He crouched so close to Marek’s face that the young man was forced to withdraw a little. “We go nowhere! I have no freedom, boy! If you want answers, ask your precious Tenacity. Serin always has answers!”

  Yuze refused to say another word. Falling mute, he waited for the others to break camp before climbing atop Cinnabar’s back and nodding to Mags. She sighed and mounted up. And when Yuze’s arm pointed east, she obeyed the silent command.

  They rode without stopping until early evening. Then, once again, they made camp at Yuze’s insistence. His dour mood hadn’t lifted yet, but he was at least forthcoming with his expectations. Ordering Ashurai and Marek to spar, he led Mags to a small bluff facing the setting sun.

  “You fight as gracefully as a block of stone, Strongtower. I don’t have the time to mend your poor habits. Yet I’ll show you a few things to begin that process.” Mags was of course offended. After witnessing Yuze’s peerless skill, however, she didn’t object. Yuze took a fighting stance that looked nearly identical to the one she’d learned in the Ardean army. Scowling, he said, “Stiff in the legs, heavy in the heels—this is how a brawler fights. Try this instead.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The monk slid his back leg forward until it was almost parallel to the other. He lowered his hands to chest height, softening his elbows and wrists, hands opening in a relaxed posture. “We do not stand indomitable like the Mountain of Iron and Stone Sect, nor are we fleeting and ethereal in our movements like the Winds of Wandering Sect. Dominion of the Flowing Storm seeks neutrality. One cannot govern their enemy when committed to attack or defense alone. Balance, adaptability—those are the qualities you should seek.”

  Mags was a Strongtower, stubborn to a fault, but she was also ambitious. She knew the quickest way to ascend was to shrug off her preconceptions, so she quieted her mind and adopted the stance Kiyashi demonstrated. Then he began his instruction in earnest.

  The two covered an assortment of strikes, all simple yet graceful. Punches and kicks, blocks and evasions, the first techniques of their shared Sect. After two hours of intense practice, Yuze nodded in satisfaction and sat on the edge of the bluff, facing the west. Folding his legs, he patted the dusty hardpan beside him. “You fought well in the battle—better than I hoped. You’ve already acquired sufficient essence to fill your Second Ring.”

  She raised her brows, taken aback by the statement. “I have? Why has nothing changed? Shouldn’t I be stronger, like I felt after forming the First Ring?”

  He hummed in that sagacious way of his and held back a response for a good long while. Finally, he turned his eyes on her. “Each ring is unique, each tier of power carrying different requirements. There is no easy formula to follow.” He sighed and lowered his gaze. “Would that I could remain at your side and lead you through each gateway. No matter. When next you take your rest, meditate and peer within. See the essence gathered around your First Ring. Rather than instruct the essence, allow it to coalesce as it will. Your intention and observation are required, however. For as long as it takes, witness your own transformation. In this way, you’ll form the Second Ring.”

  She nodded, confused as usual but willing to go on faith. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder about his wording. When next you take your rest? Why not just say tonight? She let it go for the time being. With her Kiyashi, she’d come to expect the unexpected.

  Yuze patted her leg. “This won’t prove much of a challenge. The cleansing of the Second Ring won’t either, though it will require time. When you finish, you’ll find yourself at the first bottleneck of power. Many Cultivators in our Sect’s past failed to surpass this stage. Most paths are easier to walk until the Fourth or even Fifth Ring. This is foolish, however, for it leads to restricted power in the higher tiers.”

  She considered his words, allowing her mind to flow where it wished. “So we’re more powerful later on? Does that mean I’ll be weaker than other Second Ring Cultivators?”

  Yuze smiled. “Most likely, yes. Power means little for a newly awoken core. Relying on cunning and skill will serve you better than leaning on any advantage power might give you.”

  After the brief lesson, they sat in silence until night fell. Mags shivered, the breeze sapping her body heat away. Yet Yuze kept quiet. He guided her through his accustomed breathing technique until the middle of the night. Only then did he speak again. He told her the Third Principle, then insisted she remain on the bluff without sleep to meditate on his words.

  Alone, she sat with her thoughts. Moisture from the sky fell on his shoulders and soaked her tunic. She shivered through the night, eyes closed as she meditated on the Third Principle. It was confounding, the concept so foreign and ridiculous she didn’t think she’d ever figure it out. Regardless of her doubts, Mags remained where he’d left her, legs folded, joints and muscles growing stiff, her body shaking from the cold of the Basari plains.

  When the first rays of the sun touched her back, she nearly cried with relief. The warmth suffused her skin and gave her hope. She wondered if things might be easier when Yuze allowed her to rest, gave her an opportunity to form her Second Ring. Only time would tell.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Ashurai asked, his voice quiet yet still managing to startle her.

  She opened her eyes and forced a smile. “How do you move like that? Could’ve put a knife in me without my noticing.”

  Ashurai chuckled. “I doubt that. Stab wounds do tend to hurt.”

  “I don’t mind. Didn’t happen to bring a cup of hot tea, did you?”

  The warrior sat and smiled apologetically. “Yuze forbid fires again. Sorry. You still don’t know what he intends? Does he not hold council with you?”

  Mags rolled her eyes. “My Kiyashi is as forthcoming as a stubborn child. No, I don’t know what he intends or where we’re going. I do trust him, though.”

  “As do I.”

  “The Third Principle,” she said, her face scrunching in frustration. “To achieve agency over the mind, one must acquire governance over the body… How the hells am I going to do that?”

  Ashurai sighed, and when he spoke, she detected a trace of humor in his tone. “My masters told me no such principles, but I nonetheless learned that lesson many years ago. To master the blade, one must master their body. Pain, fear, discomfort—all are distractions.”

  “He told me I must command my body on every level. Speed up my heart to warm myself, slow it down to conserve breath, master my senses, all of it!” Mags groaned, a shiver running through her as the last of the night’s cold burned away. “My first bottleneck,” she said. “Suppose I should be glad I’ve gotten this far.”

  “That you should. Without my sigils, you’d be my superior.” He laughed bitterly. “In fact, not sure if you’ve noticed, but you likely already are. I lost a great deal of strength during the battle.”

  Mags cursed under her breath. She turned toward him, pins and needles racing down her legs as she did so. “Gods, but I’m a right ass. I never told you, did I?”

  He raised his brows and waited for an explanation.

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning the words as deeply as she’d ever felt. “Fighting to save a friend is easy to understand—it’s natural—but destroying a part of yourself in order to do so… well, that’s deserving of a proper thanks.”

  She leaned over and hugged the man. His body stiffened, and then he relaxed a little, one arm curling to embrace her. “Thank you, Ash,” she said in his ear. “Thanks for sacrificing yourself to save my bony ass.”

  When she drew away, Mags found herself face to face with a blushing warrior. Seeing him like that was more than a little endearing, and she chuckled.

  Then he surprised her by arching an eyebrow and tilting his head to one side. Eyes dropping briefly, Ashurai said, “Oh, I wouldn’t describe it as bony at all. And of course, Mags. It truly was my pleasure.”

  He turned his gaze to the rising sun, the glint of a smile in his eyes, politely ignoring her own creeping blush.