The crystal chamber buzzed with newfound energy and excitement. What had begun as a hush of discipline now hummed like a hive, ordered and alive. The warm glow from the floating crystals seemed brighter, reflecting off faces newly lit from within. Even to those who had never believed, the constant pulse of Grand Elder Zivan's energy had become undeniable—a gentle heartbeat that threaded bark and bone, connecting every living being in their hidden world.
They felt it as a tide beneath their own breath, an unseen river sluicing through the tree's vast arteries. It flowed along rafters and rails, underfoot and overhead, and through them, nourishing places they had only just learned to name.
Dr. Sarah Chen could barely contain herself. The calm precision of her med-school voice trembled with childlike awe as she felt the warmth stabilize at the base of her spine. "Elder Lysara," she began, eyes sparkling with curiosity and possibility, "with this newfound learning, if we practice diligently like this, can we also develop superpowers? I'm really excited about what abilities we might gain! Will we be able to do the incredible things we've seen Yavia and her team accomplish?"
The question hovered, bright and eager. Around the circle, similar hope flickered—soft in Elena's eyes, sharp in Kai's, steady in Marcus'. Even those who'd struggled to sit still now leaned forward, breath unconsciously held. The thought of learning not only to survive, but to defend, to heal, to navigate a world that tried to erase them—it was intoxicating.
Elder Lysara's expression grew thoughtful. She let the silence stand a moment, as if choosing the right vessel for a powerful medicine. When she spoke, her tone carried both encouragement and gentle reality.
"You must understand," she said, settling into her teacher's poise, "that you will need to train diligently, and it will require much more time than you might imagine. This is because you do not carry divine blessings like Tian and Amara now do. A human bonded with a divine orb experiences a fundamentally different process than those of us who must cultivate energy naturally."
She gestured toward Tian, who was still acquainting himself with a body that had been rewritten from the inside. "For anyone to manifest what you call 'superpowers,' they must first open and gain complete control over their third chakra point—the Manipura, located at your solar plexus. To achieve this level, you must accumulate and concentrate vast amounts of energy in each chakra point, step by step, which is far more difficult than it seems when watching others already in motion."
Her voice deepened with warning that did not lean on fear. "For those blessed with divine orbs, like Tian and Amara, the challenge is different but equally dangerous. The orb provides immense energy directly, so their focus must be on control—channeling that power safely. If they ever attempt to channel more than they can hold, the consequences will be severe. Death is possible. Worse, they could harm those around them."
Marcus lifted a hand, practical as ever. "Elder Lysara, could you clarify something for us? If we achieve complete control over the first chakra point, will we be able to move freely on the surface? Will we see clearly in the darkness above? Will we be immune to the poison of the miasma?"
Murmurs of agreement rustled; this was the question they carried like a stone in the pocket. It was not greed for power, but hunger for safety.
Lysara shook her head gently. "You must have complete control over at least the second chakra point before you can safely travel in the surface darkness. You've seen Yavia, Glyph, and Muan in action, yes? They have recently awakened and stabilized their second chakra—the Svadhisthana. That achievement allows them to venture into the miasma-filled world above. You can travel safely only after reaching the second chakra level, and even then, it demands constant vigilance and continuous expenditure of energy."
The weight of the revelation settled like a cloak. The path ahead lengthened visibly in their minds—no longer a sprint for relief, but a climb for survival.
Elena, politic even in worry, asked what the room was already thinking. "Elder Lysara, forgive me, but what level have you achieved? How long did it take you?"
Lysara's smile held both pride and humility. "I am like you—without divine blessing. I have trained continuously since I was fifteen. I am now one hundred and forty-two, and I have reached the third chakra point." She paused without apology. "I have been unable to break through to the fourth despite decades of effort."
Admiration and a pinch of dread rippled through the group. Over a century to reach the third—how tall was this mountain? How heavy the air at its heights?
"What about Grand Elder Zivan?" someone asked, and the rest rushed in on overlapping breath.
"Yes, what level has Elder Zivan achieved?"
"How powerful is he really?"
Lysara lifted her hand, the room obeying before the gesture finished. "Grand Elder Zivan has achieved the fourth chakra level—the Anahata, the heart." Respect warmed every syllable. "This is extraordinary. Understand: the gap between levels widens as one climbs. The difference between first and second is significant; the chasm between third and fourth is vast. Each advancement requires exponentially more effort, understanding, and time."
Her gaze went from face to face, anchoring, leveling. "I have never seen anyone more powerful than Grand Elder Zivan in our clan, though there are others in his league among surviving clans scattered across these lands. I have never encountered anyone who has surpassed the fourth chakra. Whether such advancement is even possible in our current world, I cannot say."
Tian's team felt the shape of their task for what it was—long, exacting, meaningful. They were at the foot of an almost impossible ascent, and the lives behind them—back in the complex, under ground and grief—depended on how high they could climb.
"Let us continue," Lysara said gently, feeling their resolve quiver and set. "You will understand the true nature of this journey as you experience it. Knowledge earned in practice is worth more than anything I can tell you."
As the others absorbed the shape of their future, Amara felt a familiar pull. Without announcement, she allowed her spirit to slip from her body. The motion felt different now—not a frantic leap to flee pain, but a practiced lift. Her flesh stayed in lotus, steady; her awareness rose like a lantern released.
The chamber transformed.
She saw Zivan's energy as it truly was—waves of golden light radiating across the sanctuary, washing over rooms and root-corridors, threading ladders and bridges, catching in chimes hung from rafters, mingling with cooking steam, brushing sleeping brows. Every person—child, elder, sentinel, scholar—absorbed those emanations minute by minute, breath by breath, growing the way moss grows: slow and inexorable where water runs true.
The whole place appeared as a radiant paradise of interconnected light. Streams flowed like rivers suspended in air, converging, splitting, rejoining. Nodes brightened where people sat in practice; eddies spun where laughter pooled; soft auroras shimmered around the sickbeds as the sanctuary's gift lingered longer. It was not silence. It was harmony.
Above, she had seen a world stripped to harm: black air that ate blood mid-flight; beasts made of bark and furnace; towers gnawed to teeth. Here, proof of another truth: beauty that refused to be ornamental, hope that was engineered and maintained, growth that was planned and tender. A civilization that had made light into policy.
The contrast filled her until it stung. Wonder and determination braided in her chest—not opposites, but partners. This sanctuary was not only a refuge; it was a prototype. A vow, made wood and breath, of what the world could become again with time, with effort, with courage that did not perform itself but showed up daily.
She descended gently into herself. Her ember held.
Lysara returned them to work, weaving teaching into breath. "Root," she murmured. "Name what you stand for and sit on it."
Sarah's excitement calmed to discipline; she tracked the pool, not with a scalpel's hunger but a gardener's watch. Kai's contentment at doing-not-measuring stabilized his ember by degrees; he smiled, a small private thing, when it didn't skitter away. Marcus tended his flame with the steadiness of a man who had kept many small things alive in hostile places.
Tian drew breath that tasted like new sight and old duty. He could see Zivan's river feeding his friends; he could see Amara's gold wreathe them. He reached inward and found the first reservoir the orb had dug, round and full, and he did the hardest thing: he didn't chase the next.
"Good," Lysara said, eyes closed, satisfaction the size of a seed. "Again."
They sank and held. The crystals' glow matched the sanctuary's heartbeat. The world-tree's sap sang low.
Far above, the poisoned wind dragged its ragged cloak across ruined stone and did not know a city was learning to breathe without it.