The room seemed to exhale along with the Sword Saint. Candlelight flickered, dust motes spun in slow arcs, and smoke twisted like liquid across invisible currents. Khaldron's hand hovered near him, not touching, yet its presence pressed against the Sword Saint's awareness — a silent instruction heavier than any blade.
> "Now," Khaldron whispered, "you will step beyond the perception of even yourself. Not once. Not twice. But thrice — exist in three planes simultaneously, in a single moment. The world sees one, but your essence touches all."
The Sword Saint inhaled, feeling the weight of time compress. He lifted a foot, then another, yet each motion fractured into three distinct presences. One remained rooted to the wooden floor, the other hovered above the threshold of perception, and the third shimmered along a plane he could not name — yet each felt real, each felt vital, each bent the currents of air, dust, and candlelight in subtly different ways.
Candlelight trembled as if sensing the paradox. Dust spiraled along three overlapping arcs, each mote tracing the imprint of a separate presence. Smoke twisted in triple spirals, curling differently for each plane, yet converging toward the ceiling in impossible symmetry. Air itself seemed to vibrate in three registers, faint currents brushing against skin, flowing around invisible footprints, whispering secrets of worlds unseen.
> "Do not think," Khaldron's voice drifted like wind over frozen stone, "exist. Flow. Dwell in each plane as though it were your only reality. Each presence must be complete, independent, yet inseparable. You step once, yet the step echoes thrice."
The Sword Saint exhaled, letting the essence of three simultaneous presences merge with his senses. Time seemed to ripple differently across each plane: one echoing the past, another the fleeting present, the third the faint shadow of what had yet to occur. Every micro-gesture — the bend of a finger, the tilt of a head, the imperceptible shift of weight — registered thrice. Candlelight flickered along each, shadows stretched in triple arcs, dust spun along invisible paths.
> "Feel the planes," Khaldron whispered. "Each is a step beyond the last. Each is a truth the world cannot perceive. Each is yours alone."
The Sword Saint's eyes widened as the reality of the Ethereal Steps fully unfolded. He could feel the world pressing on one plane, bending on another, and yielding entirely on the third. Micro-currents of air swirled differently for each presence; candlelight trembled in subtle arcs, smoke curled along invisible spirals, and dust moved as if alive, obeying the paradox of his motion.
He shifted slightly, and for a heartbeat, all three presences converged — the past, the present, and the not-yet manifested future intertwining in perfect harmony. Pain flared briefly in his mind, the first sensation of what ten thousand years of imprinting could feel like compressed into a single instant. Yet the suffering was purposeful, a teacher of patience and humility, engraving deeper the seal of the step.
> "The Ethereal Step," Khaldron said softly, "is not merely motion. It is existence fragmented and whole at once. Three, seven, a hundred presences — each must obey the same law: no aura, no footprint, no presence. You are nowhere, yet everywhere. You move without moving, dwell without dwelling, and the world itself bends to the shadow of your step."
The Sword Saint exhaled slowly, inhaling the mingling scents of smoke, faint spice from the fish, and candle wax. He lifted a hand, and with the micro-movement of three simultaneous presences, he stirred the air differently in each plane. Dust spiraled along triple arcs, each following a separate imprint, yet all converging at the heart of his being.
> "Remember this," Khaldron whispered, his voice almost merging with the currents of air, "one being, three presences, a single truth. The world may never perceive it, but your essence now holds the imprint. Guard it, for any who witness it unbidden will burn beyond recall. This is the power of stepping beyond life, beyond death, beyond perception itself."
The Sword Saint exhaled, letting the awareness of three simultaneous existences sink into his marrow. Candlelight flickered, dust spun, smoke twisted, and the cat's paw hovered lightly over the embers, as if acknowledging the perfection of his step.
He lifted another foot, this time attempting five simultaneous presences. The air shivered subtly, dust traced complex overlapping spirals, candlelight split into fractured arcs, shadows bent impossibly. Pain, clarity, and awareness fused, and the imprint deepened, etching the memory of the step permanently into his consciousness.
At last, he stood fully still, yet thrice alive in motion, aware of each presence as separate, yet all converging into a single truth. He exhaled, tasting blood, smoke, and eternity all at once. The candle flickered like an unkindled star, dust spiraled in infinite arcs, and the cat resumed tending its smoked fish, indifferent yet perfect in its observance.
> "This is the step," Khaldron whispered, voice soft, eternal, and absolute. "To dwell in three planes at once, in a single heartbeat, is to glimpse the shadow of true nothingness. And now it is yours — the imprint, the seal, the truth. Move, yet do not move. Exist, yet do not exist. The world cannot perceive it, but it bends anyway."
The Sword Saint closed his eyes, feeling the triple presence thrumming through every nerve, tendon, and micro-muscle. He had touched the essence of the Ethereal Steps, engraved by suffering, patience, and observation. He exhaled, and in that exhale, he knew: to dwell in three planes at once is the firs
t step toward transcending existence itself.