The Sky Mist Art, once the foundational method of the ancient Sky Mist Academy, was a breathing technique crafted for those standing at the frail beginning of cultivation: the Qi Accumulation Realm. Its name alone carried the faint echo of a bygone era, a whisper of mist-covered peaks and silent halls where cultivators once breathed in unison beneath the morning fog.
Grey sat motionless, the jade slip resting in his palms like a fragment of forgotten history. For a time, he simply stared at it, as though hoping it would offer answers the world had denied him. Eventually, he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. His eyes sharpened.
This path… he would take it.
He adjusted his posture and crossed his legs, trying to imitate what faint memories told him was the "proper" meditation stance. His movements were clumsy, unsure, the instincts of a total beginner wrapped around the fragile recollections of a boy long dead.
'I… guess this is right?'
He shut his eyes.
Then he breathed.
Slowly. Deeply. With intention.
At first, nothing happened. His chest rose and fell, his thoughts drifted, and doubt crept in. But as he continued shaping his breaths according to the method carved into the jade slip, something subtle began to shift.
A thin wisp of mist escaped his lips. Almost imperceptible, yet real.
His weakened soul trembled slightly, as though stirred awake. Something brushed against him… no, flowed toward him: soft, weightless motes drifting in the air like invisible dust illuminated beneath sunlight. They sank into his skin, seeped into his bones, merged with his blood.
They felt like droplets of dew falling on parched earth.
Grey's cultivation moved, slowly, haltingly, but undeniably.
Time slowly passed. The world outside blurred into silence.
When Grey finally opened his eyes, the sky beyond the cracks of the ruined wall had already turned into a vast smear of crimson twilight. Heavy clouds smoldered with blood-red light, painting the landscape in a color that felt like a warning.
"I cultivated… for that long?"
It felt like only minutes. Yet hours had slipped by.
Only then did a passage from the jade slip surface in his mind:
New practitioners often lose themselves in the flow of Qi. Beware the passing of time.
Grey let out a shaky breath, his heart growing cold.
If he lost himself like this out in the open…
If night came without him noticing…
He would never wake again.
His stomach rumbled faintly, snapping him back. He blinked.
For a moment, he thought perhaps cultivation had tempered his hunger. Then his stomach let out a deep, angry growl that contradicted the idea entirely.
"…Figures," he muttered.
Hunger. The simplest enemy and the cruelest.
He rummaged through the ruined house, kicking aside splintered boards and overturned stone slabs. Dust coated his fingers, cobwebs brushed his hair, and silence pressed in. No dried meat. No bread. Nothing.
His hunger twisted into frustration.
'From my memories… I used to gather wild fruits. Hunt small creatures from the Forbidden Forest…'
His expression tightened.
He didn't want to, but he had no choice.
Until dawn, he immersed himself once more in the Sky Mist Art, sinking deeper into the rhythm of breath and mist. When the first pale strand of morning light filtered through the wall's cracks, he exhaled...
...and a swirl of clear white mist spilled from his lips.
He was still in the second level of the Sky Mist Art.
Not much. But a step forward.
Yet survival overshadowed achievement.
He stepped outside, and the Corroded Zone greeted him like a living nightmare. Twisted trees leaned unnaturally, their branches shaped like reaching arms. The earth was scarred, uneven, and pulsed faintly in places where corruption lingered. Above, the sky churned with crimson clouds, heavy and oppressive.
Fog crawled across the forest floor like a sentient beast.
Grey's steps slowed, his senses sharpening. Every rustle of leaves, every shifting shadow, sent sparks of fear up his spine.
He knew what roamed here.
Corrupted beasts.
Twisted pseudo-life birthed by divine radiance.
Things that didn't die properly… and didn't stay dead.
His hand drifted to the back of his skull unconsciously.
He remembered the horned beast.
The crushing blow.
The darkness.
'Never again.'
A flicker of movement tugged him back. His eyes snapped toward it.
A rabbit emerged from a burrow, fur black as ink, eyes bright, whiskers twitching. Not twisted, not monstrous. A normal creature… but not harmless. Even this small animal harbored Qi at the second level of Accumulation.
At least it was prey he could manage.
If only he knew how to hunt.
He crouched behind a crooked, decaying tree, watching the rabbit's ears flick.
'How do I even catch something this fast…?'
Before he finished the thought, the rabbit jolted, and vanished into its burrow.
Grey's stomach clenched painfully.
'If you starve here, you die. Move.'
Another burrow. Another rabbit. His palms grew damp as he gripped the small knife at his belt. He swallowed, throat dry.
"It's just a rabbit," he whispered to himself, voice trembling. "You're not afraid of a rabbit…"
He lunged.
The rabbit bolted.
One failed attempt.
Then two.
Then five.
By the seventh try, panic had sharpened into desperate determination.
This time, he dove without thought, hands stretching toward the retreating blur. His fingers closed around soft fur, tugging hard, grabbing its ears before it could disappear.
The rabbit writhed violently, claws tearing into his arm, but Grey clung on with every ounce of strength.
At last, breathless, he gasped, "Finally…"
He raised the knife.
His hand trembled.
'Do it. Eat. Live.'
He gritted his teeth and cut.
Warm blood splattered across his cheek.
Grey froze, breath shaking. The rabbit spasmed once, then fell still in his grasp.
He stared at the corpse, heart hammering.
"…I killed a rabbit."
The words tasted hollow.
He slowly wiped the blood from his cheek. Hunger gnawed at him ruthlessly, but guilt prickled the edges of his mind.
"…Sorry," he whispered softly. "I'm sorry... little buddy."
By noon, smoke curled lazily from a makeshift coal stove inside the ruins. Grey worked clumsily, skinning the rabbit with stiff fingers. His hands shook but did not stop. The scent of roasting meat flooded the room, drowning guilt under an instinct older than morality.
Survival.
When the meat finished cooking, he washed his bloodied hands with the last drops in his water bottle. The cold liquid disappeared too quickly. His hands still felt unclean.
He stared at the empty container.
A chill settled in his chest.
Food was solvable. Difficult, but doable.
But water?
In the Corroded Zone, lakes shimmered with poison. Rivers pulsed with corruption. Only a few untouched water sources remained, and beasts ruled every one of them.
Grey stepped outside, gaze sweeping the horizon where crimson mist writhed like a living omen.
His jaw tightened.
'Food is one thing.'
'But without water… I won't survive another week.' He gripped his knife tightly. His next hunt was no longer prey. It was to find water.
**☺️😉**