The training grounds of the Sanctuary were a microcosm of a broken but defiant world. On the sun-baked plains of the Giza Plateau, a hundred Awakened from two dozen nations stood in uneasy, ragged lines. A brash American pyrokinetic stood next to a silent Kenyan woman who could harden her skin to the consistency of granite. A German teleporter fidgeted beside a stoic Brazilian warrior who could speak to the wind. They were the first recruits of the Global Awakened Coalition, the raw, untamed clay of a new army.
And their drill instructor was a man of few words and absolute, terrifying focus.
Lin Feng walked the lines, his presence a palpable weight that silenced all chatter. He was not the hero of Tokyo, a savior to be admired. He was the Commander, a crucible in which they would either be forged into weapons or broken into dust.
The first week was a disaster.
He ran them through the brutal, efficient conditioning of his own special forces training. Forced marches under the desert sun, grueling obstacle courses, and merciless hand-to-hand combat drills. He was trying to build soldiers. But he was breaking them.
The pyrokinetic would lash out in frustration, his fire uncontrolled. The woman with skin of stone was a mighty defender, but she was too slow, a walking target. The teleporter could dodge any attack but had no concept of a coordinated defense. They were a collection of brilliant, individual powers, utterly incapable of fighting as a team. Their abilities were a crutch, a first and only resort that left them exhausted and vulnerable.
"This is not working," Amira Khan said, her voice a gentle counterpoint to the harsh shouts of the training ground. She had been observing from the shade of a command tent, the spirit of Neb-Hathor, the ancient warrior, a silent, critical presence in her mind.
Lin Feng turned to her, his face a mask of frustration. "They have power, but no discipline. No foundation."
"They have the discipline of their own cultures, Commander," Amira replied, her gaze sweeping over the exhausted recruits. "You are trying to force a tree to grow in the shape of a spear. You must teach the spear how to grow like a tree." She paused. "Neb-Hathor wishes to speak with you. Not with his voice, but with his knowledge. He sees a common thread, a link between your ways and the ways of the old world."
That evening, in the quiet solitude of a meditation chamber, Amira acted as a bridge. She placed her hands on Lin Feng's temples, and the ancient warrior spirit flowed through her, not as a vision, but as a silent, shared understanding of combat.
Lin Feng did not see a battle. He saw a concept. The ancient Egyptian martial art of Istunbum, the way of the striking serpent. He saw how Neb-Hathor did not just swing his khopesh; he channeled his ka, his life-force, into the blow. It was not just about muscle; it was about will.
And in that shared, spiritual space, Lin Feng understood. The "chi" of his own martial arts, the life-force of the Egyptian warrior, the "energy" of these new Awakened... they were all just different words for the same thing. The fire of life itself.
The next day, the training changed.
The obstacle courses were gone. The forced marches were replaced with hours of silent, focused meditation. Lin Feng did not teach them how to fight. He taught them how to breathe.
He stood before them, a single, flickering candle flame held on his open palm. "Your power is a fire," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum. "Without control, it will burn you out, leave you as ash. But a fire that is focused... can be a star."
He drew on the ancient techniques of the East, translated by the ancient wisdom of Egypt. He taught the pyrokinetic not how to throw a bigger fireball, but how to hold a single, perfect point of flame, to feel its rhythm, to command it with a whisper of will, not a roar of rage. He taught the woman with skin of stone how to channel her energy not just into defense, but into explosive, counter-attacking force. He taught them to feel their power not as a tool they used, but as an extension of their own soul.
It was a revolution. The recruits, who had been struggling and failing, began to transform. Their powers became more refined, more efficient. They learned to fight not just with their abilities, but with their bodies and their minds. They were not just a collection of powers anymore. They were becoming soldiers.
And Lin Feng, the cold, solitary warrior, found a new, unexpected purpose. He was not just a weapon anymore. He was the master of the forge.