Dual Cultivation Path

The shack was quiet in the pre-dawn gloom, the air cool and heavy with the promise of morning. Roderic Vane rose from his pallet, the straw crunching softly as he stretched his tall frame, joints popping from a night of fitful rest. His core thrummed with qi, a steady flame that had grown familiar over the past days, its warmth a comfort he still marveled at. Today was the day—the talent test at the Verdant Crest Academy—and he felt no fear, only a quiet, burning confidence. The relic had changed him, given him a chance, and he'd seize it with both hands.

He pulled on his patched trousers and tunic, the fabric rough against his skin, and slipped the wooden chit into his pocket. Tansy had kept her word—on the table sat a small clay bowl with a boiled egg and a scoop of millet, a luxury scraped together from her bartering. He smiled, peeling the egg as he stepped into the main room, the faint glow of embers casting shadows over the dirt floor. She was still asleep, her mat a lump in the corner, chestnut curls spilling out from under her blanket. He'd let her rest. She'd hear the news when he came back victorious.

The egg went down in two bites, the millet in a quick spoonful, and he was out the door, boots crunching over the frost-kissed path. Hearth Hollow lay still, its huts dark and silent, the sky a deep gray streaked with the first hints of gold. Roderic walked with purpose, his breath puffing in the chill, the academy's distant spires a beacon on the hill. His qi flowed smooth and sure, a river through widened meridians, and he grinned into the dawn. Jorin and his sneers could wait—today, Roderic Vane would prove himself.

Behind him, unnoticed, the shack door creaked open again. Tansy slipped out, tugging a patched shawl over her smock, her green eyes bleary but sharp with worry. She'd woken to the sound of his boots, her heart lurching at the thought of him facing the academy alone. "Stubborn fool," she muttered, tying her curls back as she hurried after him, keeping to the shadows. She wasn't sure what she'd do—cheer him on, drag him home if it went wrong—but she couldn't sit and wait, not when he was chasing something this big.

The path steepened as Roderic climbed the hill, the village fading below, the academy gates looming closer. Iron vines gleamed in the faint light, the runes on the stone pillars pulsing softly, and a crowd already gathered—hopefuls in a mix of silks and rags, their voices a low hum of nerves and bravado. Guards in green robes stood watch, spears glinting, while disciples darted between tables, organizing chits and scrolls. Roderic's grin held, his hazel eyes bright with certainty. He'd pass. He knew it.

Tansy lingered at the edge, half-hidden behind a cart, her freckled hands twisting the shawl. She spotted him—tall, fine, standing out in his quarry-worn clothes—and bit her lip. "Don't mess this up, Roderic," she whispered, her stomach knotting. He looked so sure, but the academy was a world she didn't know, full of sneers and rules that could crush him. She stayed back, watching, nerves gnawing at her excitement.

Roderic wove through the crowd, his chit in hand, when a familiar laugh cut the air—sharp, mocking, and all too close. Jorin Tal leaned against a pillar, his broad shoulders draped in a crisp green robe, flanked by his cronies: the wiry girl with the braid, twirling her dagger, and the scarred boy, cracking his knuckles. Their eyes locked onto him, grins widening like wolves scenting prey.

"Well, well," Jorin called, loud enough to draw stares, "the quarry rat's back! Did you bring your shovel, Vane, or just your delusions?"

Roderic stopped, qi tingling in his fists, but his grin didn't waver. "Here for the test, Jorin," he said, voice calm, stepping past. "Save your breath."

The girl—Lira, he remembered—snickered, her braid swinging as she leaned forward. "Test? You? What's a low-life like you gonna show? How to dig a hole?"

"Better than playing with knives and calling it talent," Roderic shot back, not breaking stride. The scarred boy—Kesh—spat into the dirt, glaring, but Jorin barked a laugh, following him a few steps.

"Big talk for a nobody," Jorin said, voice dripping with scorn. "They'll toss you out before you blink. Go back to the dust where you belong."

Roderic's heat flared—that strange simmer mixing with irritation—but he kept walking, shoulders squared. "We'll see," he said over his shoulder, letting the qi steady him. They could sneer all they wanted; he'd silence them soon enough.

Tansy, still hidden, clenched her fists, her breath hitching. "Jerks," she muttered, glaring at Jorin's back. She wanted to shout, to shove them off, but she stayed put, eyes on Roderic. He didn't flinch, didn't doubt. She wished she felt half his calm.

As Roderic neared the courtyard, a soft voice broke his focus. "Rough crowd, huh?" He turned, finding a boy beside him—shorter, slighter, with an easy smile that softened the tension. Barnaby Quill, he'd learn soon, was eighteen, a head below Roderic but wiry in a way that spoke of quiet strength. His hair was a mop of sandy blond, tousled and falling over pale blue eyes that glinted with kindness. His face was narrow, boyish, with a dusting of freckles across a snub nose, and his lips quirked in a lopsided grin. He wore a faded blue tunic, patched but clean, a leather cord with a small stone pendant at his neck—simple, unassuming, nothing like the silked-up clan kids.

"Yeah," Roderic said, nodding, the boy's gentle tone cutting through Jorin's echo. "They think they own the place."

Barnaby shrugged, hands in his pockets. "They do, mostly. Sect brats—born with qi and egos. Name's Barnaby Quill, by the way. You?"

"Roderic Vane," he replied, offering a hand. Barnaby shook it, grip firm but not challenging, and Roderic felt an instant ease. "You here for the test?"

"Yep," Barnaby said, pulling out his own chit, rune matching Roderic's. "No clan, no coin—just hoping my qi's enough. You too?"

"Same," Roderic said, grinning now. "Got a feeling we'll both make it."

Barnaby chuckled, a soft, warm sound. "Confident, huh? I like that. Me, I'm half-terrified, but I'll give it a shot."

"Don't be," Roderic said, clapping his shoulder. "You've got a good vibe. We'll show 'em." Barnaby's smile widened, and they fell into step, heading toward the courtyard together.

Tansy, watching from her spot, relaxed a fraction. "Good," she murmured, eyeing Barnaby. "He's got a friend now." But her nerves didn't ease—Jorin's gang lingered, and the test loomed, a shadow she couldn't shake.

The courtyard buzzed with activity, tables under jade silk swarming with disciples and hopefuls. Roderic and Barnaby joined the line, the air thick with sweat and whispers. Jorin's voice drifted over—"Look, the rat found a stray!"—but Roderic ignored it, chatting with Barnaby instead.

"Where you from?" he asked, glancing at the boy's pendant.

"Edge of the Hollow," Barnaby said, touching the stone. "Father was a scribe—taught me letters, not much else. Died last year, so it's just me and my qi now."

"Sorry," Roderic said, softening. "Mine's gone too. Got a sister, though—she's why I'm here."

Barnaby nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Family's a good push. My old man'd be proud if I made it."

"You will," Roderic said, grinning again. "Stick with me—we'll both walk out disciples."

The line moved, the sun rising higher, and Tansy edged closer, peering from behind a pillar. Her heart thudded—Roderic's calm, his new friend, it steadied her, but the stakes pressed heavy. "Come on, Roderic," she whispered, twisting her shawl.

They reached the table, the same disciple from yesterday—stylus in hand, smirk in place. "Chits," she snapped, and they handed them over. She scribbled, then pointed to a roped-off area where hopefuls gathered, overseen by elders in flowing robes. "Test's starting soon. Line up there. Don't dawdle."

Roderic nodded, Barnaby trailing him as they moved. Jorin and his cronies watched, sneering—"Quarry rat and the scribbler, what a pair!"—but Roderic's grin held, qi pulsing with every step. Tansy followed at a distance, slipping into the crowd, her nerves a tight knot.

The test area was a wide circle, stone slabs underfoot, elders at the edges with orbs that glowed faintly—tools to measure qi, Roderic guessed. Dozens waited, some pacing, others still, the air crackling with tension. He stood with Barnaby, relaxed, ready. Tansy found a spot near the ropes, half-hidden, her breath shallow as she watched.

An elder stepped forward, robe billowing, voice booming. "Silence! The talent test begins now."