The air in the chamber didn't move. It pulsed. A slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction, as if we stood inside the lung of a slumbering god. Each "inhalation" drew the shimmering energy currents into tighter, more complex patterns; each "exhalation" sent them flowing back into the infinite expanse.
To breathe here is to sync with a heartbeat vaster than worlds, I thought, the realization settling deep in my bones.
My first true breath was a catastrophe.
I inhaled, and the world screamed into me.
Gods it's not air. It's light given weight and will. A solid, searing force tore at the edges of my being, scouring channels never meant to hold such power. My own energy that restless, terrified storm I carried surged to meet the invasion not with control, but with a raw, panicked reflex of defiance.
The platform beneath our feet shuddered violently. The graceful, flowing rivers of energy twisted into sudden, jagged knots of furious light. A sound like a galaxy's worth of crystal shattering echoed through infinity.
I choked, my body convulsing, and exhaled in a violent, desperate cough. The energy burst from me not as a breath, but as a crackling, uncontrolled shockwave that slammed into Anya.
I hurt her. I can't control any of this.
Silence returned, deeper and thicker than before. The chamber's hum now vibrated with a palpable sense of... disapproval.
K hadn't moved. A stark, unmoving silhouette against the swirling chaos. His expression was unreadable.
"No."
That single word was flat, final, carrying the weight of absolute judgment.
Anger flared in my chest, cutting through the pain. I won't be broken by one word. I gritted my teeth, tasting blood from a bitten cheek, and copied the stance again.
Inhale.
This time, I saw it coming. The torrential flood of light. I met it not with panic, but with sheer, stubborn willpower. I will not break.
Every muscle strained as I became a dam against the impossible tide. Pressure built behind my eyes, in my sinuses, in my very soul. A fine, crimson trickle seeped from my nose. The air around me warped, light bending like a heat haze on a cosmic scale.
I held it. One second. Two. My vision spotted with black. Three. Four. The pressure was a mountain on my diaphragm. On the fifth second, my will fractured.
The dam broke.
Energy erupted from me in a silent, concussive ring a visible distortion that shot outward, bending the chamber's geometry into a nauseating swirl before snapping back.
"Wrong." K's voice was the same flat stone dropped into the same deep well. No anger. No impatience. Just fact.
I saw Anya watching, her fear a cold knot in her stomach. She sees the agony on my face. The tremble I try to hide. This isn't training it's dismantling.
"Your turn," K said, his glacial eyes shifting to her.
She flinched. "I... I can't possibly—"
"Did I ask for your assessment?" The question was a lash. "Breathe."
Her hands shook as she closed them into fists, nails biting into palms. I could almost feel her grounding herself in that familiar pain.
She inhaled.
For her, it wasn't a torrent. It was a mist a fine, gossamer drizzle of liquid light that seeped into her. It didn't burn; it filled. But the volume was immense. She's a thimble trying to hold an ocean.
I watched her body go rigid with effort, a statue of terrified concentration. A single, perfect tear welled in her eye not from sadness, but from impossible strain. It traced a clean path through the energy residue on her cheek.
She was frozen, locked in that unbearable pressure. She can't exhale. She's afraid to let go.
"Let it go." K's voice cut through her panic. "Don't push it. Guide it."
The command broke her paralysis. She released.
The energy left her not as a wave, but as a sigh a soft, shimmering exhalation that settled around her feet like morning dew. Uncontrolled, but not violent. A surrender.
She gasped, dropping to hands and knees, her whole body trembling with spent adrenaline and relief that looked like grief.
"Less of a disaster," K noted, utterly devoid of praise. "But sentimentality is a leaky valve. You felt it. You cherished the feeling. You held on too long." His gaze shifted to me. "See? Even the civilian is less of a bull in a china shop than you are. Again."
---
Time became a blur of light and strain.
No sun marked the days. No true fatigue that couldn't be pushed through only a deep, soul-weary exhaustion. The cycle was everything: Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Fail. Try again.
I lost count after what felt like a thousand attempts. My body was constantly coated in a fine, sparkling sheen of sweat and energy-residue. My failures grew less catastrophic, from reality-warping booms to mere localized distortions that made the air wail.
Anya's progress was quieter. Marked by longer holds and cleaner releases. Her role became clear: when my breathing grew ragged, when power flared around me like an unstable star, she would place a hand on my arm. Not with power, but with presence. A silent reminder of a self beyond the storm.
I would grit my teeth, meet her steady gaze, and the chaos within me would calm just a fraction. Just enough.
K was a statue a relentless monument to perfection. His critiques were infuriating and precise: "Your shoulders are tense. You're fighting it. You lose." "You're trying to swallow it. Sip." "That exhale was arrogant. Try again with humility."
An aeon might have passed. Or ten. Our clothes began to show phantom wear a faint fraying at a cuff, a loosening thread at the seam. Small, tangible testaments to intangible time.
Then I inhaled.
This time was different. I didn't fight the current. I didn't brace. I let it flow into me, visualizing not a dam, but a vast, empty reservoir deep in my core a space carved out through endless failure.
The energy poured in, still immense, still terrifying, but it filled the space I provided. I held it. The pressure was there a contained star in my chest but it was mine. The platform remained steady. The rivers of energy flowed undisturbed.
I held it for a ten-count. Twenty. My breath even.
I exhaled not a push, but a gentle, deliberate release. A guided flow of light back into the chamber. It slipped into the ambient currents, merging seamlessly, causing barely a ripple.
Silence.
This silence was different. Not disapproval, but observation. Assessment.
K uncrossed his arms. The small movement felt monumental. He took a single step forward.
"Finally."
The word hung in the air a first, faint acknowledgment. He looked from me to Anya, her face etched with hopeful exhaustion.
"The kindergarten lesson is over." A smile touched his lips all sharp edges and promised pain. "Now the real work begins."
He gestured to the infinite, impossible landscape around us.
"Let's learn how to walk."