The first few days in the hidden sanctuary were a brutal assault on Xai's senses and his very being. His body, accustomed to the gentle routines of mortal life, protested vehemently against the rigorous exercises Lyra and Faelan prescribed. Stances held for agonizingly long periods, designed to awaken his connection to the earth and the flow of Qi, left his muscles screaming. Breathing exercises, meant to draw in the ambient energy, felt like trying to grasp smoke.
"Focus, Xai," Faelan would often snap, her voice sharp but not unkind. "The Qi is all around you. You must learn to feel it, to invite it into your meridians."
He tried. He truly did. He closed his eyes, mimicking their instructions, attempting to sense the elusive energy they spoke of. All he felt was the ache in his limbs, the damp chill of the cave, and the frustrating emptiness within. Doubt, a familiar companion from his scholarly days, began to whisper insidious suggestions of his inadequacy.
Lyra, ever the more patient one, would offer words of encouragement. "It takes time, nephew. Your connection has been dormant for nineteen years. Be patient with yourself, but be persistent."
But patience was a virtue Xai had cultivated in the quietude of his former life. This new existence demanded a different kind of tenacity, a relentless pushing beyond his perceived limits.
One evening, after a particularly grueling session of stance training that left his legs trembling uncontrollably, Xai retreated to a quiet corner of the cavern, frustration simmering within him. He felt like a clumsy child trying to wield a weapon far too heavy.
As he sat there, massaging his aching muscles, he closed his eyes, trying to recall the fleeting sensations from his visions – the raw power, the chilling howls. He focused on the image of the crimson snow, the intensity of the color, the primal energy he had sensed in those fragmented moments.
Suddenly, a faint tingling sensation bloomed in the depths of his being, a warmth that spread slowly through his veins. It was subtle, barely perceptible, but undeniably there. He held his breath, afraid it would vanish.
"Aunts…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I… I think I felt something."
Lyra and Faelan, who had been observing him from across the cavern, were instantly at his side, their eyes filled with a cautious hope.
"Describe it," Lyra urged, her voice low.
"Warmth… inside," Xai struggled to articulate. "Like… a tiny ember."
Faelan's gaze intensified. "Try to guide it, Xai. Don't force it, just… feel where it wants to go."
He closed his eyes again, focusing on the faint warmth. He didn't know how, but he instinctively tried to follow its subtle movements within him. It meandered through his limbs, a sluggish current in a vast ocean.
Then, another memory fragment surfaced – a flash of pure, raw energy erupting from his hands in the vision. He unconsciously tightened his fists, focusing his intent on that image.
The tiny ember within him flickered, then flared. The warmth intensified, no longer a gentle sensation but a potent heat that made his skin prickle. A low growl, unfamiliar yet strangely resonant, rumbled in his chest.
His eyes snapped open. A faint wisp of dark, almost shadowy energy curled around his right hand. It pulsed with a subtle power, an alien force that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.
Lyra and Faelan exchanged a look of profound relief. "The demonic energy… it has begun to awaken," Lyra breathed.
Faelan's expression was more guarded. "This is just the beginning, Xai. Sensing it is one thing. Controlling it… that is a far more arduous task."
Their words proved to be an understatement. Over the next few weeks, Xai's cultivation progressed in fits and starts. He would experience moments of breakthrough, where the demonic energy within him seemed to respond to his will, followed by frustrating plateaus where he felt as though he were hitting an invisible wall.
The physical training intensified. Lyra, a lithe and agile warrior, taught him basic stances and movements, emphasizing speed and precision. Faelan, with her raw power and aggressive style, focused on channeling the demonic energy into offensive maneuvers.
One particularly grueling session involved Xai attempting to channel the demonic energy into his fists. Each attempt resulted in searing pain that shot up his arms, the raw energy feeling like it was tearing him apart from the inside.
"You are forcing it," Faelan would growl, observing his struggles. "The demonic energy of our clan is potent, untamed. You must learn to guide it, to coax it, not to command it."
Frustration mounted. He was used to understanding things, to mastering concepts through study and logic. This felt primal, intuitive, a language his mind struggled to comprehend.
One day, after another failed attempt to channel his energy without excruciating pain, Xai slumped against the cave wall, despair creeping in. "I don't know if I can do this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not a warrior. I'm not… an emperor."
Lyra sat beside him, her gaze understanding. "You are both, Xai. The scholar's mind will help you understand the flow of energy, the principles behind the techniques. And the emperor's will… that will give you the strength to endure the pain, to push past your limits."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remember why you are doing this. Remember the crimson snow, the silence where the howls once echoed. That pain… it is far greater than what you feel now."
Her words struck a chord within him. The memory of the fragmented visions, the injustice of the massacre, the weight of his clan's lost legacy… it fueled a flicker of determination within the despair.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He focused not on the pain, but on the image of the swirling demonic energy within him, visualizing it not as a destructive force, but as a part of himself, a wild and untamed power waiting to be understood.
Slowly, tentatively, he reached out with his will, not trying to force it, but to guide it, to coax it as Faelan had instructed. The response was subtle at first, a lessening of the searing pain. He persisted, his focus unwavering.
This time, as he channeled the energy towards his fist, it didn't erupt in chaotic agony. Instead, a dark, swirling aura enveloped his hand, crackling with a subdued power. It felt raw, potent, but… controllable.
He opened his eyes, staring at his hand in disbelief. A small step, a painful bloom of latent power, but a step nonetheless. The path ahead was still shrouded in uncertainty and fraught with peril, but for the first time since his peaceful life had been shattered, Xai felt a sliver of hope ignite within him. The dormant wolf within was beginning to stir.
(Chapter End)