Dusthaven woke the way it always did: tired, loud, and hungry.
A cart screeched somewhere on the road, oil lamps hissed, and someone was already yelling about stolen fish. Smoke crawled through the alleys like it was looking for work.
Rat climbed the ridge to the broken temple that overlooked the village. The temple never fixed itself. Roof tiles lay like scattered bones. Statues stood headless. The wind dragged old incense ash around like a lazy broom.
It wasn't much, but it was quiet. That counted for something in Dusthaven.
He sat on the third step, where the stone was least cracked. From here, the whole Basin stretched around him: the north mountains gray and sharp, the south forest green and endless, the Jade tributary below flashing dull copper in the dawn light.
Rat exhaled. "All right. One more try."
He closed his eyes and searched for the ember behind his navel. It burned faintly, like a stubborn coal pretending not to die.
"Inhale. Pour, don't gulp."
Air slid in. Then stopped again. The invisible wall hit back, ribs tightening, veins screaming. He coughed blood, spat on the step, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The Codex's earlier words whispered through his mind, cold and exact:
Your veins will crack, or your breath will align with the horizon.
"Thanks," he muttered. "Always helpful."
He tried again. The wall pushed back harder. The world tilted. He pressed his forehead against the step to keep from falling sideways.
"Stop," he gasped to himself. "You're not a rabbit. You're a jar. Hold steady."
His body disagreed completely.
The morning dragged on. Sweat soaked his back. The ember dimmed until it felt like it might vanish. Somewhere below, Dusthaven argued about the price of rotten pears. A goat brayed. A baby cried.
"You clench your jaw like you're waiting for the rope to break," a rough voice said above him.
Rat jerked up. The beggar sat three steps higher, like he'd been carved there. His gray beard was a bird's nest of knots, his eyes calm and bright, his hands turning a pebble round and round as if teaching it patience.
Rat wiped his mouth. "You always show up when I'm about to embarrass myself."
"That means I stay busy," the beggar said, amused. "Show me your breathing."
Rat inhaled again, slow. Tried to pour, not drag. The wall slammed him. His throat locked. Shoulders rose. He exhaled in pieces, coughing until black spots danced behind his eyes.
"See?" he wheezed. "I'm a natural disaster."
The beggar shook his head. "That's prey breath. Short and sharp. Good for running. Bad for living."
"So I should stop being myself?"
"You should stop being only yourself," the old man said, still calm. "You're not just a rat in the gutter. There's a horizon inside you, pretending to be small."
Rat gave him a flat look. "Horizon. Right. I'll buy one when I can afford breakfast."
"Buy breath first," the beggar said. "Don't fight the wall. Rest against it. Let it get used to you. When the door recognizes your weight, it opens."
Rat frowned. "Sounds like you want me to breathe politely."
"That would be new for you."
Rat snorted. "How long does this polite breathing take?"
"Forever," the beggar said without missing a beat.
Rat groaned. "Perfect. Just what I needed. A hobby that kills me slower."
The beggar smiled faintly. "If you survive slower, you live longer."
Rat sighed and shut his eyes again. He let the breath slide until it pressed against the wall. No forcing this time. Just pressure. Just patience. The urge to shove rose like a scream. He swallowed it. Shoulders dropped. Back straightened.
Outside the temple, the Basin didn't care. The market yelled. The river stank. The mountains brooded under cloud.
Something inside him changed. Not much, just a hum, like the world remembering a song it used to know.
"Don't chase it," the beggar murmured. "Let it find you."
Rat exhaled slow. The hum stayed. He inhaled again. It stretched from his nose to his belly, one steady line. The wall trembled.
Then something clicked. A latch, not breaking but unlocking.
Breath flooded in, smooth and alive. Heat spread through his ribs. The ember flared, stretching, brightening, rounding until it was a small, steady sun behind his navel.
His hands tingled. His bones felt new. The world sharpened. He saw the cracks in the altar, the dust motes dancing in the light, the smell of river and fish smoke tangled in the wind.
The beggar's voice cut through the rush. "Hold it. Don't grip harder. Just stay true."
Rat stayed. The flow circled. His breath matched the world's. He wasn't forcing air anymore. The air was carrying him.
When he opened his eyes, Dusthaven looked different. Still filthy, still loud, but real. Colors had names again. Green was green. The mountain light was silver, not gray.
The beggar gave a small nod, like a craftsman inspecting work he didn't hate. "Foundation."
Rat laughed, half sob, half victory. "So that's it? I'm finally not useless?"
"Not useless," the beggar agreed. "Just new clay."
Rat pressed a palm to his belly. The warmth answered. "I thought I'd break."
"You did," the old man said simply. "Cracks are how light gets in."
Rat looked up. "How long will this last?"
"As long as you practice like a man who remembers almost dying." The beggar stretched, joints cracking like dry twigs. "Eat. Rest. Don't boast. The Basin taxes boasting."
Rat grinned weakly. "Then I'm already broke."
"Then stay quiet," the beggar said, already turning to leave. "And don't miss the trials. Fate is calling, and it doesn't knock twice."
"Comforting," Rat muttered.
"Realistic," the beggar replied. "There's a difference."
He walked away, his figure blurring for a heartbeat in the temple light, as if the air bent to make room for him. Then he was gone.
The Codex unfolded. Silver threads spun letters in the air, weaving calmly.
[Codex of Strands of Fate – Breakthrough]Vitality: 3
Qi Sense: 3
Comprehension: 3
Fate Entanglement: 7
Realm: Foundation Establishment
New Skill: Horizon Breath (Basic Circulation) - Aligns breath and Qi flow along the inner horizon. Smooths circulation, prevents vein collapse, anchors energy behind the navel. Efficiency increases with calm practice.
New Treasure: Fang of Reversal (Nascent, Unbound) - A scar made by defiance. Once per danger, flips pursuit into retreat or disadvantage into opportunity. Unreliable, strengthens with bold action.
Rat blinked. "So my big reward for nearly dying is a breathing trick and a bite mark that might work once?"
The Codex said nothing.
He laughed anyway. It wasn't joy. It was relief, the kind that came with surviving something you probably shouldn't have.
He looked out over Dusthaven, the crooked roofs, the filthy river, the mountain teeth waiting in the distance. "Guess I'm climbing after all," he said.
The wind from the north brushed his face, cool and thin. The mountain called back.
[Codex Appendix – Foundation Establishment]
Breath aligns with horizon. Qi gathers behind the navel and circulates with intent. Body strengthens. Senses sharpen. Life stretches. The world begins to notice you.
Rat smiled faintly. "Great. Now the world notices. What could possibly go wrong?"
He stood, brushing dust from his knees. Below, the Basin bustled and cursed and bartered as if heaven hadn't shifted at all.
"First step," he whispered, and started down the ridge. The wind followed, tasting new Qi in the air.