Kael did not sleep.
His body collapsed onto the straw mat sometime before dawn, muscles trembling, lungs burning, but his mind remained awake—suspended in a strange, weightless clarity that hovered between exhaustion and awareness.
Pain throbbed everywhere.
It was a familiar pain now. Not shocking. Not overwhelming. Simply present. A background truth of existence in this frail shell.
His chest rose and fell unevenly. Each breath felt like it scraped against something inside him, as though the air itself were too coarse for his lungs.
So this is cultivation, he thought dimly.
Not enlightenment. Not transcendence.
Endurance.
Somewhere outside, a rooster crowed. The sound was harsh, ugly, and real.
Kael opened his eyes.
The hut was unchanged—dim, rotting, miserable. A thin beam of morning light slipped through a crack in the wall, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily through the air.
Nothing miraculous had happened overnight.
And yet… everything had.
He pushed himself upright slowly. His limbs protested, but they obeyed.
That alone was progress.
Yesterday, this body would have failed.
He closed his eyes again, deliberately this time, and turned his awareness inward.
The void welcomed him.
It was deeper now. Clearer.
The Eclipse Core floated at the center of his soul-space, rotating with silent inevitability. Its surface was smooth, flawless—one half an abyssal black that seemed to drink in light, the other a brilliant white that radiated quiet vitality.
They did not clash.
They coexisted.
Kael studied it the way a starving man might study fire—reverent, cautious, and intensely aware that a single mistake could end him.
"What are you?" he whispered internally.
The core did not answer.
Instead, sensation bloomed.
Information—not dumped into his mind, but unfolded.
The Eclipse Core was not a tool.
Nor a blessing.
It was a principle.
A convergence point where opposing absolutes overlapped. Life and death. Growth and decay. Creation and annihilation. Not alternating, not separate—but simultaneous.
It did not grant power freely.
It demanded equilibrium.
Kael frowned slightly.
"So if I lean too far…" he murmured.
The response came instantly.
A vision.
Himself—withered, corpse-like, eyes hollow, soul cracked and leaking shadow. Undead, but not sovereign. A thing driven only by hunger until nothing remained.
Then another.
Himself—engorged with vitality, flesh swollen, meridians bursting, body collapsing under unchecked life energy, dissolving into mindless biomass.
Both paths ended in ruin.
Balance was not optional.
Kael exhaled slowly.
"That complicates things," he said softly.
But he did not feel fear.
If anything, he felt… challenged.
The village was awake by the time he stepped outside.
People moved with the dull efficiency of those who expected nothing better from the day. A few glanced at him, eyes lingering a fraction longer than before.
He walked differently.
Not stronger—not yet—but deliberate.
Kael felt it himself. A subtle alignment between thought and action. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Hunger gnawed at him again, sharper than yesterday. Cultivation demanded fuel, and this body had little to spare.
He headed toward the communal storage shed.
Predictably, he was intercepted.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The voice belonged to Elder Rusk, a thin man with a permanent scowl and eyes that measured worth in immediate utility. Two other villagers stood behind him, arms crossed.
Kael stopped.
"To eat," he replied plainly.
Rusk snorted. "You don't work. You don't hunt. You don't get grain."
Kael tilted his head. "I gather firewood."
"Barely enough to justify the air you breathe," Rusk snapped. "You think last night's beating didn't teach you your place?"
The memory surfaced—fear, submission, silent endurance.
Kael felt none of it.
"I'm not asking," he said calmly.
The villagers stiffened.
Rusk stared at him, incredulous. "What did you say?"
Kael met his gaze evenly. "I'm taking food."
A heartbeat passed.
Then laughter erupted—harsh, mocking.
One of the men stepped forward. "Looks like Garron didn't hit you hard enough."
He raised his hand.
Kael moved.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
He stepped inside the man's reach, grabbed the wrist mid-swing, and twisted.
A sharp crack echoed.
The man screamed.
The sound cut through the morning like a blade.
Everyone froze.
Kael released the broken arm and stepped back.
"I don't want trouble," he said, voice level. "But I won't starve quietly."
Rusk's face flushed purple. "You—!"
Kael's gaze hardened.
Something in his eyes made the elder falter.
Not menace.
Certainty.
After a long, brittle pause, Rusk spat to the side. "Take your ration. And don't think this means anything."
Kael inclined his head slightly. "It means enough."
He took the grain and left.
Behind him, whispers began to spread.
That night, Kael returned to the woods.
This time, he went deeper.
The trees grew denser, their trunks thick and twisted. Sounds shifted—nocturnal, watchful. Eyes glimmered briefly in the darkness before vanishing.
He welcomed the danger.
At the edge of another clearing, Kael sat and closed his eyes.
He did not rush.
First, breathing.
Slow. Controlled. Measured.
Then awareness.
He reached for Qi again, but differently this time. Not forcing it through blocked meridians, but inviting it—guiding it along paths reinforced by the Eclipse Core's stabilizing presence.
Pain flared, but it was manageable.
Qi flowed.
Thin.
Wild.
Unrefined.
But real.
Kael's body trembled as the energy circulated, carving pathways through resistance, scouring impurities with ruthless efficiency. Blood seeped from pores, carrying foul-smelling residue.
He did not stop.
Hours passed.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Wet.
Kael's eyes snapped open.
Across the clearing, something shifted.
A low growl rolled through the air.
From the shadows emerged a beast—wolf-like, but wrong. Too large. Too many teeth. Its eyes glowed with feral hunger.
A forest predator.
It stalked forward slowly, muscles coiling beneath matted fur.
Kael rose unsteadily to his feet.
He was exhausted.
Weak.
Injured.
And smiling.
Perfect.
The beast lunged.
Kael rolled aside clumsily, claws raking the earth where he'd stood. He came up with a stick in his hands—nothing more than a branch, snapped jagged at one end.
The wolf turned, snarling.
Kael did not retreat.
He stepped forward.
Pain exploded as the beast struck him, claws tearing into his side. Warmth flooded his skin.
Blood.
The Eclipse Core pulsed.
Kael felt it—felt the connection.
Life rushing from the wound.
Death hovering close.
He made a choice.
Not to kill.
To take.
Intent crystallized.
The Eclipse Core responded.
A sensation like cold fire surged through his chest, down his arm, and into the beast where their bodies touched.
The wolf howled.
Its struggles weakened abruptly. Its vitality bled away—not violently, not explosively, but drawn, siphoned with terrifying efficiency.
Kael gasped as power flooded him.
Raw. Untamed. Intoxicating.
He drove the branch into the beast's throat.
It collapsed, convulsed, and went still.
Silence reclaimed the clearing.
Kael staggered back, heart pounding.
His side burned—but already, the bleeding slowed. Warmth spread through his limbs, knitting flesh just enough to matter.
He stared at his hands.
They were shaking.
Not from fear.
From exhilaration.
"So this is how it works," he whispered.
Kill—or be killed.
Take—or be taken.
The Eclipse Core hummed softly within him, balanced between black and white.
Kael looked down at the dead beast.
Then at the stars peeking through the canopy.
A laugh bubbled up from his chest—quiet, disbelieving, edged with something dangerous.
"This world," he murmured, "is honest."
He dragged the carcass back toward the village, blood trailing behind him like a promise.
Tomorrow, things would change.
And this time—
He would be the one deciding how.