Lian’s eyelids fluttered open, greeted not by the oppressive crimson sky he'd grown accustomed to, but by the diffused, almost ethereal light filtering through silver coated leaves. He was lying on a bed of soft moss, the air thick with the scent of spring and damp earth. Towering trees, their bark shimmering like polished metal, surrounded him, their branches laced with glowing vines. A crystalline spring bubbled nearby, its water reflecting the strange, otherworldly glow.

  A sharp stab of pain lanced through his chest, radiating outwards, and he gasped. “Ugh…” he groaned, his voice raspy. He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt like lead. His hand brushed against something near him – the shard, warm, and the jagged half of his sword, its metal dull and lifeless.

  The shadowed figure was there, leaning against one of the silver trees, his expression unreadable. The green qi that always seemed to emanate from him was subdued, almost as if he was conserving it.

  “You’re awake,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  "You… you got me out?" Lian managed, the words catching in his throat. The memory of the rogue soldiers, Obsidian Veil Shadows, they called themselves, the crushing weight of the shadow qi, was a fresh burn in his mind. Another wave of agony washed over him, stealing his breath and forcing him back down onto the moss. Stars danced behind his eyelids.

  The shadow pushed off the tree, moving with a fluid grace, too fluid. He knelt beside Lian, his green eyes came into view, rest of his face still hidden under the cloak, scrutinizing. "The outburst… it fractured your core."

  Lian frowned, confusion clouding the lingering pain. "My... core?"

  "Your source. Your reserve of qi," he explained, his voice devoid of emotion. "Reaping qi, especially the way you do, is inherently unstable. It's like trying to mix oil and water. If not done well, it doesn't work, it becomes... unnatural."

  He placed a hand on Lian's chest, a faint green glow emanating from his palm. "You need to learn to breathe, Lian Voss. To regulate the flow. To mend the cracks."

  "Wait! I have so many questions. First, I don't even know your name yet," Lian interrupted. "Where is this place? Why do you always stalk me?"

  He sat back, his posture rigid. "As I've said, my name is irrelevant. This place is my residence."

  "Now, as I was saying. Close your eyes. Empty your mind– "

  "Dude, tell me your name! Please, I'm so confused!" Lian had to get something out of the mysterious figure, even something as useless as a name, or even a fake name.

  "Ugh! Fine, the name's Kael. Happy?" Lian could feel a surge of annoyance flare within the emotionless shadowed figure.

  "Close your eyes. Empty your mind. Feel the qi within you. Not the foreign shadow qi, the you qi, the one you curated in that Shadow Realm. It's weak, barely a flicker, but it's there."

  Lian closed his eyes, focusing on the dull ache deep within his chest. Kael was right. There was a faint hum, a tiny spark, battling against the jarring echoes of the stolen shadow qi. He tried to control it, to guide it, but the effort was like trying to herd frightened birds. He gasped, a strangled cough escaping his lips, and tasted blood.

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  "Again," Kael commanded, his voice firm but patient. "Slower. Deeper. Imagine your core as a cracked vessel. You need to fill the cracks with gentle, consistent pressure, not a sudden flood."

  Lian tried again. He visualized the fractured core, the jagged edges of the wound, and focused on the tiny spark of his own qi. He guided it slowly, deliberately, around the edges of the fracture, a painstaking process, like stitching together a delicate tapestry. This time, there was less pain, a faint sense of control.

  Kael watched, his gaze unwavering. "Reaping is killing you, Lian. Plain and simple. You need to learn to control it, or abstain. But you can't abstain, can you? You don't have a choice. Every kill, the reaping just happens. Until you figure how to decide when you reap, or if you can ever escape the chaotic world anymore, which I doubt you can, you need to learn to breathe."

  After what felt like hours of excruciatingly slow progress, Lian felt a faint surge of energy within him. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

  He opened his eyes, and this time, when he pushed himself up, he managed to sit without collapsing. He looked at Kael, a silent question in his eyes.

  Kael nodded, a flicker of something – approval? – in his gaze. "Stand."

  Lian hesitated. He still felt weak, the core throbbing with a dull ache, but he pushed himself to his feet. The world spun, and he stumbled, falling to his knees.

  "Again," Kael repeated, his voice unwavering.

  Lian pushed himself up again, but this time, the effort was too much. He swayed, his vision blurring, and he collapsed once more, the taste of dirt and despair bitter on his tongue.

  He lay there for a moment, gathering what little strength he had left. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't. He had to learn to control this power, this curse, before it consumed him.

  With a groan, he hauled himself up one last time. This time, he stood, swaying precariously, but standing nonetheless.

  Kael moved, his motions blurring. A fist, wreathed in green qi, shot out, aimed at Lian's chest.

  Lian reacted instinctively, channeling what little qi he had, trying to form a rudimentary barrier. The punch landed, sending a shockwave through his body, but this time… the core held. He stumbled back but remained standing.

  He stood panting, the taste of blood still lingering in his mouth, but he had done it. He had taken the first step.

  "Good, but you are still too weak to leave." Kael materialized back into Lian's view. "Now you need to rest, you will be up by sunrise tomorrow for more qi training." With that, Kael disappeared without an extra word.

  Lian felt something amiss. Some weird gut feeling he couldn't quite place.

  He was hungry though. For the first time, he took in a 360 view of the heaven-like plains. He identified a nice little hut, which he assumed was going to be his quarters until Kael decided he could leave.

  He staggered toward it, legs trembling. The door creaked open under his palm, no lock, just a leather hinge. Inside, dim light spilled from a single qi crystal embedded in the ceiling—pale blue, flickering like a dying star. A cot hugged one wall, straw-stuffed, a thin blanket folded neat. A wooden table stood center, scarred but solid, and on it—a clay bowl, a chunk of dark bread, dried meat strips, and a small gourd. “Food. He planned this.” Lian’s stomach clenched, saliva pooling—he hadn’t eaten since the Red Hollow massacre, and with days lost to blackout, he hasn't eaten for over a week, he was sure.

  He sank onto the cot, shoving bread into his mouth—stale, chewy, but it hit like a lifeline. The meat followed, tough and salty, washing down with tepid water from the gourd. “Better than scraps in the Dawn camps.” His eyes roamed—shelves lined a wall, stacked with oddities: a cracked jade vial, a thorned twig, scrolls yellowed at the edges. Kael sure led a mysterious life. “Who is he, really?” The qi crystal pulsed, faint, syncing with the glade’s hum—power, steady, not like his own mess.

  Fullness weighed his lids—exhaustion crashed in, core still aching from the day's training. He kicked off his boots, and pulled the blanket over. “Sunrise. More qi stuff.” Sleep took him fast—dreams flickered, of battles with ancient creatures, the massacre between factions, and a nice one about him actually living during the Golden days of the Empire.