Chapter 15 – Stone Serpent Flow
The clang of metal rang across the morning sky.
The Flintclaw training grounds, usually silent and cracked with drought, now thrummed with life.
Rows of young warriors stood in ragged lines, bare-chested and panting, their skin streaked with dust and sweat. Every strike of their wooden staves sent echoes bouncing off the cliff walls, but their rhythm was sloppy — too fast, too shallow, too weak.
At the edge of the field, Ren Flintclaw stood with arms folded, smirking proudly at the man leading the drills.
The stranger was unlike anyone the tribe had seen before.
He wore a sleeveless black robe lined with silver thread, his belt marked with the crest of the Ironfang Dominion — twin fangs carved around a rising sun.
His hair was iron-gray despite his youth, his eyes sharp as chisels, and when he moved, even the dust seemed to part around him.
This was Varrin Kael, a Vanish Warrior — one of the Dominion's wandering instructors, said to have mastered both martial cultivation and stealth movement.
Every gesture he made seemed precise, refined, and effortless.
Every breath carried authority.
Ren gestured toward him, addressing the gathered tribe.
"Listen well, all of you! This is Instructor Varrin Kael, a Vanish Warrior of the Dominion. He has honored us by agreeing to teach a true Dominion technique. If you wish to live beyond these mud walls, learn!"
The crowd roared half-heartedly.
Most had never even met a Dominion warrior before.
Varrin's voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk.
"Your bodies are crude. Your breathing wild. You rely on muscle when you should rely on flow."
He raised one hand and clenched it slowly.
"The path of the Veins is not brute force. It is control."
His stance shifted — feet rooted like mountain pillars, hands weaving slow circles through the air. The dust at his feet trembled, then began to swirl in perfect rhythm with his movements.
"Watch closely. This is the Stone Serpent Flow — a basic Ironfang Dominion technique for Second Vein Warriors.
It harnesses the essence of earth through movement, not might."
He inhaled, and the ground itself seemed to breathe with him.
When he exhaled—
Boom!
A spiral of dust erupted around his feet, coiling up his body like a living serpent made of stone and wind. He stepped forward once, and the spiral lashed outward — cracking a training dummy in half.
The shattered pieces fell in silence.
Every warrior froze, mouths open.
The strike had no fire, no weapon, no visible Qi flare — just pure control, as if the earth had obeyed his will.
"This is Dominion training," Varrin said coldly. "One motion, one pulse of energy. You fail because you fight your veins instead of guiding them."
He glanced at Ren. "Your men are… raw. But if even one of them learns this, your tribe may yet produce a true warrior."
Ren bristled but hid it with a thin smile. "They'll learn, Instructor. They must."
The drills began.
Varrin barked orders; warriors struggled to mimic the elegant motions. Their feet stomped, their arms jerked, their breath fell out of rhythm.
Dust rose, but no serpent formed.
Zaric watched from the ridge above, hidden behind a boulder.
He'd snuck out of the mines after dawn, drawn by the sound of shouting and the strange resonance of power that rolled through the air.
Now, crouched in the brush, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
The movements were simple — yet something about them resonated deep inside him.
Each shift of weight, each controlled exhale, sent ripples through the ground.
It wasn't brute strength. It was connection.
The flow of the earth itself…
The Yellow Amethyst pulsed faintly in his chest, and the air around him shimmered for a heartbeat. The dust beneath his fingers stirred, responding to the faint echo of Varrin's movement.
Zaric's breath caught.
Even without trying, his body mirrored the pattern — not perfectly, but instinctively.
Down on the field, Ren Flintclaw scowled as his warriors failed again and again.
"Useless! You're wasting Instructor Varrin's time!"
But Varrin only folded his arms. "Patience, Young Master. Dominion training is not meant for the unrefined. Without proper veins, they are stone without life."
He turned to the warriors. "Feel the weight of your breath. Do not force the ground — listen to it."
Zaric's fingers tightened on the rock. Those words struck him like thunder.
He closed his eyes and inhaled.
The mine's echo still lingered in his body — the rhythm of picks, the thrum of buried essence, the pulse of the mountain. He let it rise through him.
When he exhaled, his palm traced a slow arc through the air.
A faint shimmer of dust followed the motion — small, barely visible, but real.
His heart raced. "I can do it…" he whispered.
He practiced the motion again, this time guiding his energy through his arm as Varrin had shown. The Yellow Amethyst responded, channeling a thread of power through his vein. The dust on the ground rippled like the surface of disturbed water.
He grinned. "Stone Serpent Flow… that's what it's called."
Below, Varrin's sharp gaze swept the cliffs for a moment.
Zaric froze, ducking low behind the boulder, holding his breath.
The Dominion warrior's eyes lingered for a second too long, then turned away.
"Again!" Varrin barked to the trainees. "If you can't feel the earth, you'll never command it."
Zaric waited until the field quieted again before rising. He stared at his hands — steady, strong, and trembling faintly with excitement.
He had no teacher, no manual, no wealth.
But he had the amethyst, and the earth itself seemed willing to whisper to him.
If the Stone Serpent Flow could be mastered through instinct, he would learn it.
He would learn all of it.
As the sun sank behind the ridges, the sound of wooden staves striking dirt echoed across the plains.
Far above them, a single boy practiced in secret — his yellow vein glowing faintly beneath the skin, pulsing in rhythm with the heart of the mountain.