Tyler cycled his mana as a gentle wave washed over him, thousands of tiny bubbles tickling his skin. A flurry of suspended sand and tiny pieces of shells split around his legs, steadily creeping up the beach only to be dragged back out to sea as the waters fell once more.

  The salty air sunk into his nose and taste buds in a harsh yet pleasant way, and he basked in the moment as the midday sun shone warm against his skin.

  He let out a contented sigh.

  It was quaint. Peaceful, even.

  Well, salt water might have been getting into some of his wounds, but he wasn't going to let that, the inflammation, or the wall of ominous cosmic soup just a dozen feet away get in the way of this moment.

  With each motion of the waves, he moved his mana accordingly, surging outwards into those deep, tiny channels that he could barely reach, then letting the power fall in a cascade back into his core.

  Again and again, he practiced the Dragon’s Bones, and as the minutes went by he could feel his mana sink deeper and deeper into his channels.

  “Ahh.”

  This felt nice.

  It was a great way to practice, all things considered. It wasn't something that the Reamans actually did, given the lack of open bodies of water in a desert, but it seemed right somehow to be learning from nature.

  It had only been two weeks, but he was already making great progress.

  In the days following his victory over the duneclaw, Tyler had slowly exposed himself to the island, darting out and scouting the state of things in little bursts before quickly returning to his cave. It had been nerve-wracking at first — especially since the presence of the Core of Protection gave the duneclaws an extra way to locate him — but over the days he’d gotten acclimated to the way of life here.

  The duneclaws ruled the island — of that, there was little question. There were some magic water seagulls that stole their prey and other kinds of creatures that he sometimes glimpsed on the outskirts of the island, but in terms of sheer numbers and territory the big scorpion-like monsters had the island grasped in their ferocious grips. They swarmed around all the forested areas, leaving their little claw marks on anything and everything that was within reach, and their screeches had become a steady tune that haunted the island day and night.

  Tyler had quickly discovered one area that they never dared go to, however — the water.

  Due to the duneclaws’ adaptation to highly dry and hot places, their chitin was actually very sensitive to moisture, and an abundance of water would make the monsters gradually fall apart at the seams. He’d actually already seen this with the first ones he’d killed — their front claws, being much less reinforced than their tail, had already succumbed partially to the sheer moisture in the air.

  It seemed that most of the monsters instinctively avoided the water, which was incredible for him considering how close his cave was to the beach. So after a month of gathering filth, just a couple of days after his victory he’d finally worked up the courage to wash himself down in the ocean. It had been a near-heavenly experience, despite the lukewarm water and constant fear that a monster would come upon him at any moment.

  He’d devised a system of traveling along the coastline to get to any area of the beach that he wanted, and today he was on the opposite side of the flat, desert-like patch of the island from where his cave was situated. He’d taken a liking to this area specifically because the open space meant he could keep a better eye on any duneclaws looking to sneak up on him, and the flying monsters that sometimes harassed him usually kept to the forested side of things.

  For the past week, this spot had been a safe haven for him.

  Nothing dangerous ever came up out of the water — or at least, nothing up until this point — and if he ignored the blurry barrier between the waves and the line of sunken skyscrapers in that vast sea of dimensional magic, it was a spot of untouched nature.

  Tyler chuckled for a moment as a particularly large wave crashed onto him, the strength of the Dragon’s Bones not enough to overcome physics as his loose stance on the underwater sand was wrenched free. He let himself float back up the shore, joining a line of pebbles and small shells to wash up on the beach.

  As much as this was an area of physical safety, it was just as much a haven for his mental state. After a month of being trapped in a dark, gloomy, dirty cave, he could finally see the sun again. He could bask in the breeze, inhale what might have been the freshest air he’d ever breathed, and sit underneath the stars on this little stretch of beach that was more picturesque than any place he’d ever gotten a chance to visit back in his old life.

  It was a little impractical from a survival standpoint to risk a fight every day he came here, he knew. Despite his new prowess, one slip-up during a swarm was all it would take to do him in.

  But the sheer peace that he got simply from being here was too much to pass up.

  There was real beauty on this island, despite the infestation and the claw marks that dotted nearly everything in sight. There was this art in nature, a healing touch that let him forget about the inflammation and the brutal dances of life-or-death that he now regularly found himself in.

  As he bobbed up and down with the waves, he pushed his mana through his channels once more.

  It had taken him a while to get used to the difference in execution between his two techniques. While the Flowing Sands could be chained into itself infinitely — a steady state of power — the Dragon’s Bones was very instantaneous. Like the waves, it surged and it fell, and it was in that motion that the power came.

  He did wonder if he could maintain it for longer. Waves would always have a surge and a fall, but perhaps that moment of impact could be lengthened. Perhaps there was a way to hold that moment, in some manipulation of his mana. A future aspiration, maybe.

  And speaking of future aspirations…

  Tyler abruptly warped his mana into a sharp spiral, then through a dozen smaller spirals at the edges of it. His soul shuddered with the strain, and his concentration fell apart before he could even finish a single loop.

  Oh well. The Forge of Dawn and Dusk had always been a long shot, anyways. The proper execution of the technique would have him move his mana in an almost fractal-like pattern, but he supposed there was a reason that one was only performed by Reaman Warriors.

  Before he could get too frustrated about being too weak to perform the healing technique, he returned to practicing the Dragon’s Bones.

  Over the past two weeks, his technique had gone from a weak, inconsistent thing to something that he could perform in the heat of battle. The denser mana of a Mid-Novice surged through his channels upon every execution, and though he was always cautious of the duneclaws’ tail strikes, he could face their weaker front claws without much trouble nowadays.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, a duneclaw screeched from behind him. He instantly turned, wiping the water from his closed eyes and readying himself for battle, but the creature flinched away the moment it stepped onto the wet sand. A few moments later, it was scurrying back to the forested area across the island.

  Tyler shook his head, retracting the arm that had already been reaching for the spear that he’d wedged beside himself. It wasn’t too uncommon for them to venture into this area, especially given the magical signature that the Core of Protection must have given off. Still, every time that it happened it made his heart skip a beat.

  At the same time, he was already fighting an urge to pursue it. Any singular duneclaw was hardly a threat nowadays, and he had a borderline addiction to feeding their corpses to the tree.

  Then again, he had his scavenged resources out here. He still couldn’t risk getting caught in a swarm, and he’d go hunting once the night came anyways.

  After a couple more loops of practice, Tyler made his way back to shore.

  He tossed on his clothes, which were still permanently stained with blood and dirt despite his numerous attempts at washing them in the ocean, and grabbed two satchels that he'd propped up against a nearby boulder. It was mostly sticks and rocks today, but he’d scavenged quite the variety of materials over the past two weeks. It was nice, having access to more than just the smattering of debris that dotted the cave.

  He wrung out his hair as he walked, chuckling at how long and shaggy it had grown into. He’d never been one for the wild man look, but he thought that maybe it suited him now. He was glad that he’d never been able to grow a beard, though — he was sure that he’d be tearing his hair out if he had to deal with anything more than these little bits of stubble.

  A chitter sounded out from a couple-dozen paces to his right, so he engaged the Flowing Sands, jogging along the forested floor and passing by the numerous piles of throwing rocks he’d set up throughout the island before the duneclaw could catch up to him. His gait ate up the ground at a pace he would have thought unimaginable just a month prior, and as he dashed between trees and over the lush grass, he gave a silent thanks to that banana once more. At this level of inflammation, he could almost feel normal again.

  A second chitter sounded out behind him, and he turned to throw a rock at the new enemy that was closing in. It tried to leap over and gore him, but the projectile sent it careening off-course, smashing hard into a tree and giving him the time to get within sight of the cave.

  Tyler moved the log almost effortlessly now, and closed it behind him a solid five breaths before the first duneclaw got to it.

  Nice.

  Flipping off his pursuers now that he was in the safety of his cave, he dumped his satchels into the piles of resources that he'd accumulated over the past couple of weeks. They lined the walls near the entrance in their distinct little piles, and he took it all in with a proud gaze as he tossed a spare twig onto the embers of dragonfire.

  This place was really becoming a home to him.

  Tyler had already done some heavy organization on the cave by the time he’d first gotten out, and now with the influx of new materials he’d taken it upon himself to truly furnish the place. He had little stations for training, cooking, and sleeping, as well as tables where he could tinker with things.

  He was learning to weave baskets, and trying to cobble together some rope so that he wasn't overly reliant on Savadiere's leftovers. He wasn't quite good at making either yet, but he was making great progress due to the lessons from his Analysis.

  And he couldn’t say that he wasn’t proud of himself.

  A trio of baskets lined his little table setup, comprised of all the pieces of furniture that could still stand by itself. And while he wouldn't trust them to hold anything more than a couple of pounds, they had a special place in his heart. It was art, after all, and art was important — especially in this place without people.

  He missed people.

  There were still times, late at night, when he would just sit there curled up in his bed of leaves, aching for any sort of companionship. The loneliness ate away at him, the lack of true connection stronger than anything he’d felt before. He longed every day for a friendly face — someone to listen to him, to laugh with him, to show any ounce of sympathy for his plight.

  One could only make do with some flimsy cultural texts for so long.

  But at the same time, he felt a bit of peace in his isolation.

  Life was predictable here. He trained, scavenged, and fought mindless insects that he didn’t feel particularly bad about doing in. He didn't have to worry about the worst traits in humanity that had haunted him in his previous life — those moments of sadistic, self-serving malice that still appeared in his nightmares to this day. Compared to that, he could almost enjoy the opposition of these creatures that didn’t have any thought to make such a choice.

  Yes, he would have loved someone to talk to, but had he really had someone to talk to, before the Storm?

  Nope, Tyler realized with a shrug. Not for the last couple of years, at least.

  It really was better here. He felt like he actually had some control over his life — some agency that wouldn't be ruined by some rich asshole’s random whims.

  As he looked around the cave, he felt a sense of pride radiating from his chest.

  I did this.

  He'd built his body up, bit by bit, and with that strength he'd transformed this place from a cold, inhospitable cavern to a place that at times could even feel cozy. Every tall pile of sticks or thick notch scraped on the wall represented his survival in this hazardous place.

  And crowning it all was the banana tree sitting at the far side of the cave, so tall that it was already brushing against the ceiling. It rested like a watchful sentry over his entire base of operations, exuding some warmth that he could have sworn was more than just his imagination.

  A bed of its fallen leaves dotted the ground around its trunk, a few bits of dried green blood pooled on top of them. He’d laid a duneclaw corpse next to it just hours ago, but the tree had fed on it within minutes, dissolving it into specks of magic that slowly pooled into its roots.

  Tyler made his way over and plucked a decaying leaf from the thick lower part of its trunk. "You sure do grow a lot, huh? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, given how many duneclaws I'm feeding you, but I feel like you need a haircut every other day."

  He laid the leaf down next to the others of its kind, glimpsing the tiny sprout of a new fresh one that would be swiftly taking its place. And as he let his gaze wander upwards…

  The absolutely massive bushel of bananas hung there, its numerous fruits green and in the midst of growth. The little guys were still pretty small currently, but if the scale of the tree was anything to go by he thought they’d likely dwarf supermarket bananas by the time they were ripe. They shone with brilliant power in his soul’s senses, and he shuddered as he thought of just how much Resonance was contained within the bunches of fruit.

  It probably wouldn’t be long now until he could start reaping those rewards.

  Tyler took a deep sip from a coconut, and splashed a little water onto the plant’s base. "I don’t know if talking to a banana tree is past the line of ‘certified crazy person,’ but thank you for keeping me company these past weeks. I’ve been working really hard, and I can tell you have too. Now we’re almost at the finish line. Here's a toast to us, alright? To progress."

  He patted the tree on the trunk one last time, then began limbering up his mana. Soon, he’d be due for another hunting session. And he couldn’t wait to see if he could break his kill record.

  — – —

  But unbeknownst to Tyler, as he began going through the forms of the old Reaman tribes, a special sort of energy began buzzing at the tips of the tree’s roots. It was an ancient, chaotic magic, colored purple and black and ever-shifting like an infinite sea. Built up over the absorption of dozens of corpses suffused with the mystical power, it reached outwards, tinged with blood harboring a primordial Curse and a will to preserve so strong it echoed throughout reality itself.

  And as the energy built, day after day, it began to touch upon the ancient rituals residing within the Cave of the Ancestors. The sparks within the tree’s roots ran deeper through the fabric of the world, pushing past the mundane until they connected with these old magics — long dormant, but so potent that they had become inextricably linked with the matter of the cave itself.

  And as the two powers brushed against one another… they simultaneously began to awaken.