- Four Months Later - 1993
Erik walked beside Midnight through the stone corridors of the Ten Rings compound, their footsteps echoing faintly as they made their way toward the library.
"Where's Li?" Midnight asked, his voice low, as reserved as ever.
"Resting" Erik replied simply. The word stirred an old memory in him, and his thoughts drifted back four months ago, to their shared room.
Li had been sprawled across his bed, pale and groaning, his muscles screaming with every movement.
He had tried to keep up with Erik's relentless training, hammering his body sunup to sundown. Four days of it, before he'd finally collapsed.
Erik could still picture Midnight sitting at his side, carefully lifting a wooden bowl of broth to Li's lips. His expression hidden under his usual mask but his mouvement steady and patient.
"Drink" Midnight had said, guiding the spoon toward Li's mouth.
Li swallowed weakly, wincing as he shifted against the mattress. "You're treating me like I am dying or something." He muttered hoarsely, his usual humor dulled by exhaustion.
"You do look like a deadman." Midnight replied, his tone flat but not unkind.
The memory made Erik sigh, his lips tightening with faint amusement. Li's stubbornness carried him four days before it broke him.
He thought he could match him, but he didn't know the half of it.
Because what Li and the others never saw were the nights when they slept.. Erik was outside again—striking the mountainside until his fists bled. Grinding his bones against stone for Iron Fist conditioning, drilling martial arts forms until his body ached. Forcing control into the sparks of his Venom Blast, and chasing the elusive flow of chi through repetition and will.
Li had only tried to keep pace with the days part of his training—and even that had pushed him into sickness.
A smile ghosted across Erik's face as he remembered Li glaring at him from his bed, voice croaking. "You're a monster." Then, with that crooked grin of his: "Maybe I should start reading more books."
Since then, Li had stopped trying to mirror Erik's pace.
He gave rest and recovery the respect it deserved—and for that, Erik was quietly relieved.
Not that it saved the boy from the teasing. Both Erik and Feng made sure of it, poking fun at his short-lived "monster training" whenever the chance came.
The memory faded, leaving Erik smirking faintly to himself as he and Midnight reached the library doors.
Erik glanced sideways at his comrade as they were about to enter. The boy was quiet as always, his black mask covering his face, hands tucked into his pockets.
"How's your Mandarin comin' along?" Erik asked, his tone casual.
Midnight tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes flicking toward him. "Better" He said, his voice calm, carrying his thick accent. "I can follow most conversations now. Reading…" He gave a small shake of his head. "Still slow."
Erik smirked faintly. "Same. Talking's one thing—I can get by, casual talk, insult Li when I feel like it. But reading? That's another story." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "I can recognize enough characters to handle simple texts, but anythin' more than that is complicated."
Midnight gave a soft, rare chuckle.
In the Ten Rings, Mandarin and English were non-negotiable. Every member had to reach at least basic fluency in both, no exceptions.
Erik had focused hard on Mandarin when he first arrived ten months ago—immersion helped. Being surrounded by nothing but the language meant he had no choice but to adapt. Now, he could handle daily life, express opinions, even argue if he wanted to. But reading? He was still limited, tripping over the more complex characters.
Still, progress was progress. And in his spare time, he had already started dabbling in other tongues—languages that might prove useful down the line. Preparation was everything.
Midnight pushed one of the library door's open, and the two stepped inside.
The Ten Rings library was nothing like the grand public ones Erik remembered from his old world. It was carved directly into the mountain, the walls rough stone smoothed just enough to hold rows of wooden shelves. Lanterns burned low along the walls, filling the chamber with a golden glow that fought against the shadows. Scrolls and bound volumes lined the shelves in organized clusters, most of them in English and Mandarin, though a few sections carried texts in Arabic, Persian, Russian, and older European scripts.
At the far end, long tables stood beneath a high, vaulted ceiling cut straight from the rock, where thin cracks allowed faint shafts of daylight to filter in.
The air smelled of aged paper and stone.
Midnight paused between the shelves, resting his fingers lightly on the spine of a book. "Every time I come here" He muttered. "I wonder how much they keep locked away."
Erik nodded slowly, eyes scanning the rows. "Probably more than we'll ever see."
And yet, even then, he knew—this place was a treasure trove for anyone willing to dig.
A voice suddenly broke the quiet, calm yet carrying the weight of authority.
"What can I do to help you, boys?"
Both Erik and Midnight stiffened, startled. They turned sharply toward the sound, only to find a man standing a few paces behind them, his presence so silent they hadn't noticed him.
"Advisor Ling" They said in unison, bowing their heads slightly in respect.
Erik's eyes lingered on the figure before him. He knew the man well by reputation. One of Xu Wenwu's closest and most trusted confidants. Dubbed 'Advisor' not by title alone, but because of his rare wisdom and counsel, he was said to be the man Wenwu listened to when few others could sway him.
Ling stood tall in the golden lamplight, his wrists folded neatly and hidden within the long, flowing sleeves of his ceremonial Taoist robe.
The robe was black, embroidered with faint white patterns that caught the glow of the lanterns.
On his head rested a ritual Taoist hat, its squared crown marked with a Yin-Yang symbole giving him a priestly appearance.
Erik straightened slowly from his bow, studying him.
A short beard framed his face. He could not have been older than his mid-twenties—yet his eyes held a weight beyond his years, calm and penetrating.
It wasn't the first time Erik had seen the man. He knew Advisor Ling often tended to the library, moving silently between the shelves, his presence both watchful and unobtrusive. If anyone understood the knowledge buried in these walls, it was him.
Midnight broke the silence first, his voice soft but steady from behind the mask. "Advisor Ling… Do you know of a book about assassination? About blending into shadows?"
Ling's gaze lowered slightly, his eyes half-closed as though peering inward rather than outward. .
"To walk unseen is not merely to hide the body, but to still the spirit." He said calmly. "A shadow is not a cloak one wears, but a harmony between silence and intent. There is a work… The Book of Ninja: The Bansenshukai, compiled by Fujibayashi Yasutake. Old, yet filled with teachings on concealment, misdirection and the flow of the unseen hand."
He lifted one sleeve, palm hidden beneath the long fabric.
With a graceful wave of his hand, the air stirred. From across the library, a heavy volume slipped free of its shelf. It glided silently through the air, as though carried by unseen currents, before landing neatly into his grasp.
Erik's eyes sharpened, every sense attentive. It wasn't the first time he had witnessed this display of power, but it never failed to catch his full focus.
Midnight's face was hidden, yet his body betrayed him. He leaned forward slightly, his shoulders tight, his hands still against his sides. Awe radiated from his small, deliberate movements.
Advisor Ling held the book delicately, as if it were something more than paper and ink, before extending it toward Midnight.
The boy reached out with both hands, taking the book as though it were a sacred relic. He bowed slightly, voice low but clear. "Thank you, Advisor." He straightened, his eyes glimmering faintly behind the mask.
Turning to Erik, he gave a short wave. "See you later."
Erik only nodded, watching silently as Midnight's black-clad figure drifted toward the door, the book cradled carefully in his hands. When the boy disappeared into the corridor, Erik's gaze shifted back to Ling.
The Advisor studied him with calm eyes, his hands folded again within the sleeves of his robe. After a pause, he spoke, his tone carrying the quiet rhythm of Taoist verse.
"And you, child.. What is it that you seek? For the scrolls do not yield themselves to idle hands, and knowledge without intent is like a blade left to rust."
Erik hesitated only a moment before speaking, his voice steady. "Your magic.. What is it ?" His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in sharp curiosity. "I've seen you use it before—talismans, barriers, calling books from across the room.."
Ling's gaze softened, and he inclined his head slightly, as if the question pleased him. "What you call magic is nothing but the Dao expressed through symbols, breath, and will. The world is woven with currents, unseen—energies that flow as rivers beneath the soil and winds above the sky. We Taoists learn to walk in harmony with these flows."
He lifted one sleeve, and from within produced a strip of yellow paper marked with flowing black ink. It was the brushstrokes of a talisman.
"With talismans, we bind intent into form. With enchanted mirrors, we reflect that which is hidden. With amulets, we ward against the hungry dead. With ink, chants and barriers, we set boundaries against chaos. These are not tricks—they are extensions of natural law, guided by discipline and faith."
His eyes glimmered faintly in the lantern light. "To detect what is unseen. To banish what should not remain. To guard those who walk the path.. That is the work."
He lowered the talisman back into his sleeve, folding his hands once more. "Such is my art. The sorcery you have glimpsed is but one branch of a much older tree."