Dual Cultivation Path

The shack's damp air clung to Roderic Vane as he sat on his pallet, legs crossed, the morning slipping into noon beyond the mud walls. His core hummed steadily now, a flame tamed by hours of focus, its qi flowing through meridians that no longer faltered. The relic's shards had settled into him, their echoes a quiet undercurrent he could feel but not see. He'd skipped the quarry, ignored Tansy's raised brow as she'd left to barter their last greens at the market, and stayed here, breathing, stabilizing, marveling at the change. He wasn't weak anymore—not the Roderic who'd choked on dust and envy. But meditation could only tell him so much. He needed to know.

He rose, joints popping from hours of stillness, and stretched his tall frame, the ceiling crack brushing his dark hair. His tunic hung loose, sweat-stained from the night's ordeal, but his body felt different—lighter, firmer, as if the qi had seeped into his muscles and strung them tighter. That heat lingered too, a low simmer in his gut he'd shrugged off as elation, though it nagged at him now, restless and unplaceable. He shook his head, dismissing it again. No time for distractions. He'd test this power, see what it could do.

Stepping past the sack curtain, he glanced at the main room—Tansy's mat empty, the hearth cold, a chipped bowl on the table holding a scrap of flatbread she'd left for him. He grabbed it, tearing off a bite as he pushed the creaking door open and stepped into Hearth Hollow's midday bustle. The village sprawled before him, a patchwork of mud huts and leaning stalls, the air thick with smoke and the tang of boiling millet. Children darted through the lanes, barefoot and laughing, while carts rattled past, hauled by merchants barking prices. Beyond the rooftops, the Verdant Crest Academy's spires glinted on the hill, a taunt he refused to heed today.

Roderic chewed slowly, hazel eyes scanning the familiar chaos. The quarry loomed west, its dust cloud a smudge against the sky, but he turned east instead, toward the scrubland edging the village—a stretch of cracked earth and stunted trees where boys sometimes sparred and old men diced for coppers. No one would notice him there, not a laborer skipping work, not a nobody testing something he barely understood.

His boots crunched over the dry ground as he walked, the flatbread gone by the time he reached the scrubland's fringe. A gnarled oak marked the spot, its branches sagging, a weathered stump nearby scarred from knife games. No one was around—too hot for play, too early for dice. Perfect. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the qi stir, and flexed his fingers. What could he do with this? Lift more? Run faster? He'd heard cultivators at the market boast of leaps that cleared rooftops, punches that split stone. His core wasn't that strong—yet—but it was more than yesterday's nothing.

He started small, crouching beside a rock half-buried in the dirt—fist-sized, heavy enough to strain his old self. He gripped it, channeling a thread of qi into his arm, and pulled. It came free with a soft pop, easier than he'd expected, no tremble in his hand, no ache in his wrist. He hefted it, grinning, then tossed it skyward and caught it, the weight a toy in his grasp. "Not bad," he muttered, setting it down. His core barely flickered, the effort a whisper against its new depth.

Emboldened, he eyed the oak. Its trunk was thick, bark peeling, a low branch jutting out at chest height. He'd seen quarry boys swing from it, their laughter ringing as they dared each other higher. Roderic had never tried—too tall, too clumsy, too weak. Now, though, the qi hummed in his legs, a promise he couldn't ignore. He took a breath, bent his knees, and pushed a burst of energy downward, leaping.

The ground fell away, wind rushing past as he soared—not a rooftop, not yet, but higher than any boy he'd envied. His hand snagged the branch, fingers closing tight, and he swung, body arcing smooth and sure before landing with a soft thud. Dust puffed around his boots, and he laughed, loud and sharp, the sound echoing off the scrubland's silence. His heart pounded, not from strain but from thrill. He'd done it—qi wasn't just a feeling; it was power.

He paced now, restless, the heat in his gut flaring again, sharper this time. His breath hitched, a flush creeping up his neck, and he clenched his fists, willing it away. It wasn't exhaustion—his body thrummed with energy—so why this? Images flickered, unbidden: soft curves, a low laugh, a touch he'd never known. He growled, kicking a pebble hard enough to send it skittering into the brush. "Focus, you idiot," he snapped to himself. It was the rush, the joy of strength after years of nothing. That's all.

A rustle broke his thoughts—footsteps, heavy and uneven, crunching closer. Roderic turned, squinting as three figures emerged from the scrubland's haze. Quarry boys, older than him by a year or two, their tunics patched but cleaner than his, their grins sharp with mischief. He knew them vaguely—Dren, squat and broad, with a scar across his lip; Cal, lanky and loud; and Pike, wiry, eyes darting like a rat's. They hauled stone sometimes, drank more often, and liked picking fights with stragglers.

"Well, look who's playing truant," Cal called, his voice a lazy drawl as they fanned out, blocking the path back to the village. "Vane, ain't it? Tarn's pet?"

Roderic straightened, qi tingling in his limbs. "Not today," he said, keeping his tone even. "Just stretching my legs."

Dren snorted, cracking his knuckles. "Stretching, huh? Heard you didn't show at the quarry. Too good for it now?" He stepped closer, boots scuffing the dirt, his bulk a wall Roderic couldn't sidestep.

"Leave it," Roderic said, but the heat surged again, mixing with a spark of irritation. He didn't want this—not now, not when he'd finally tasted something better. But Pike circled left, Cal right, and Dren loomed, grinning like a wolf.

"Think you're tough, skipping work?" Dren said, shoving a meaty hand against Roderic's chest. The push was hard, meant to stagger, but Roderic barely budged. His qi flared instinctively, steadying him, and Dren's grin faltered, eyes narrowing.

Roderic exhaled, feeling the energy coil tighter. "Walk away," he warned, voice low. He didn't know what he could do—not really—but the qi begged to move, to push back.

Cal laughed, a harsh bark. "Walk away? Hear that, boys? He's giving orders!" He lunged, aiming a sloppy swing at Roderic's jaw. Time slowed—or maybe the qi sharpened his senses—because Roderic saw it coming, clumsy and wide. He ducked, qi surging to his legs, and sprang forward, slamming his shoulder into Cal's chest. The lanky boy stumbled back, wheezing, hitting the dirt with a grunt.

Dren roared, charging like a bull, but Roderic sidestepped, qi fueling a speed he'd never had. He grabbed Dren's arm, twisting it with a strength that surprised even him, and shoved. Dren tripped, sprawling face-first into the dust beside Cal. Pike froze, hands half-raised, then bolted, disappearing into the scrub without a word.

Roderic stood over them, breathing hard, the qi pulsing hot and alive. Cal coughed, glaring up at him, while Dren pushed to his knees, spitting dirt. "What the hell, Vane?" Dren snarled. "You some sect brat now?"

"Get lost," Roderic said, fists clenched, the heat in his gut roaring louder, dizzying. They scrambled up, muttering curses, and limped off, casting wary glances over their shoulders. He watched them go, chest heaving, a grin tugging at his lips despite the ache in his shoulder. He'd won—not a brawl, but a fight, with qi he'd forged himself.

The thrill faded as he stood alone, the scrubland quiet again. His body sang with power, but that heat wouldn't quit—a restless, primal urge that tightened his jaw and quickened his pulse. He leaned against the oak, wiping sweat from his brow, and frowned. This wasn't just excitement. It was too strong, too persistent, stirring thoughts he shoved down hard. The relic had strengthened his qi, sure, but what else had it done? Those shards, that hum—had they left more than power behind?

He shook his head, starting back toward the shack. "Later," he muttered. He'd figure it out—after he told Tansy, after he planned his next step. For now, he was stronger, and that was enough.