Dual Cultivation Path

The courtyard of the Verdant Crest Academy simmered with anticipation, the morning sun climbing higher, its golden rays glinting off the stone slabs that formed the testing ground. Roderic Vane stood among the hopefuls, his tall, lean frame a steady pillar amid the shifting crowd, his patched tunic and trousers a stark defiance against the silks and crests around him. His core thrummed with qi, a steady flame honed by days of meditation and the relic's mysterious gift, his hazel eyes locked on the Stones of Measure with unshaken confidence. Beside him, Barnaby Quill stepped forward, the first of their group of four to face the test, his sandy blond hair falling over pale blue eyes, his gentle smile tight with nerves.

Beyond the ropes, Tansy hovered near a pillar, her freckled hands twisting her shawl, green eyes darting between Roderic and the onlookers—academy disciples, village folk, and anxious kin—who pressed close, eager to witness the next prodigy or failure. The air buzzed with their whispers, a hum of expectation built from years of watching the talent test unearth the extraordinary. Jorin Tal's voice cut through now and then, sharp and mocking from his perch near the ropes, but Roderic tuned it out, his focus on Barnaby.

The sandy-haired boy approached the leftmost stone, his faded blue tunic swaying, the stone pendant at his neck catching the light. "You've got this," Roderic murmured, clapping his shoulder, his grin a steady anchor.

Barnaby's lopsided smile flickered, nerves etching lines into his boyish face. "Hope so," he whispered, then pressed his palm to the jade orb. The runes pulsed, and the courtyard held its breath.

The stone flickered—a dim red, weak and faltering, like a spark drowning in rain. A murmur rippled through the crowd, Jorin's taunt slicing sharp: "Scribbler's trash! Another flop!" Barnaby's hand trembled, his face paling, and Tansy's heart sank, her breath catching. "No," she muttered, willing him on.

Roderic's grin dipped, his qi tingling with unease. "Come on, Barnaby," he said, stepping closer, voice low but firm. "You're more than that. Push."

Barnaby's jaw clenched, sweat beading on his brow. His eyes shut tight, and he drew a ragged breath, reaching deep—past the fear, past the doubt—to the modest core his father's lessons had nurtured. The stone pulsed again, the red brightening, shifting—blue now, steady but faint, teetering on failure's edge. The onlookers leaned in, whispers swelling, the elders watching with narrowed eyes.

Then, at the brink, it changed. Barnaby's hand shook, his breath a gasp, and the orb flared—a dull gold, muted but solid, glowing with a warmth that defied its shaky start. The light held, not blinding but true, marking talent where failure had loomed. A cheer broke out, small but growing, and Barnaby staggered back, blinking in disbelief, his gentle smile blooming wide and bright.

"Barnaby Quill—talented. Advance," the lead elder intoned, his voice cutting through, a flicker of approval in his steel-wool beard. The crowd murmured—surprise, respect—a few clapping as Barnaby turned to Roderic, eyes shining.

"Told you," Roderic said, grinning wide, clapping him again. "Dull gold's still gold. You're in."

Barnaby laughed, shaky but real, rubbing his neck. "Barely. Thought I'd choke."

"You didn't," Roderic said, nodding toward the advancing group. "Go on—I'm up."

Tansy exhaled, her nerves easing a fraction. "Good for him," she whispered, her gaze shifting to Roderic, heart thudding anew. Barnaby had scraped by, but her brother—she knew he'd shine.

The other two in their group tested quickly—the twitchy boy sparked a dim blue, passable, while the braided girl's stone glowed red, her face crumpling as she slunk away, the crowd's pity a quiet hum. Then it was Roderic's turn. He stepped forward, boots scuffing the slabs, the chit in his pocket forgotten as he approached the rightmost stone. The courtyard stilled, the onlookers' eyes narrowing—some curious, some mocking—Jorin's sneer loud: "Quarry rat's gonna crash! Watch this!"

Roderic ignored it, his grin steady, qi surging in his chest like a river breaking free. He didn't feel Tansy's nerves or Barnaby's doubt—only a burning certainty, forged by the relic's shards that had sunk into his core, widened his meridians, and lit a strength he'd never known. He'd jumped over tables, fought off Dren, felt the power in his bones. This was his moment.

He stood before the stone, its smooth jade surface cool and unyielding, the runes faintly pulsing as if waiting. The crowd's murmurs faded to a hush, the elders' stern gazes sharpening, even Jorin's taunts dimming as Roderic raised his hand. He pressed his palm to the orb, calluses rough against its polish, and closed his eyes, letting the qi flow.

It began slowly, a deliberate trickle he guided with a thought—down his arm, through his fingers, into the stone. The orb pulsed, a faint hum stirring, and the glow sparked to life. Red first—dim, stuttering, a weak flicker that drew a snort from Jorin and a ripple of snickers from his cronies. "Told you!" Jorin barked. "Trash stays trash!"

Roderic didn't flinch, his grin unshaken, the qi still uncoiling. He deepened the flow, a steady stream now, and the red brightened, shifting—blue, clear and solid, glowing with a quiet strength that silenced the jeers. The crowd murmured, a few leaning forward, Tansy's breath catching as she clutched her shawl. "That's it," she whispered, hope flaring.

But he wasn't done. The qi surged, smooth and effortless, a tide he barely nudged, and the blue flared—gold now, rich and bold, its light washing the pedestal in a warm radiance. Gasps rippled out, the onlookers stirring—"Gold!" "The quarry boy's got gold!"—and Barnaby's gentle voice cut through, awed: "Roderic, that's…"

Roderic felt it, the power still rising, a well he hadn't tapped. His brow furrowed—not from strain, but focus—as he let more qi spill forth, a river he'd only begun to explore. The gold sharpened, intensifying, and then—white. Pure, blinding white, a beam streaking upward like a comet, piercing the sky and casting stark shadows across the courtyard. The crowd erupted—shouts, cheers, disbelief—while the elders jolted, their stern masks cracking, hands gripping robes or staffs in shock.

"White!" a merchant bellowed, his broad hat tipping as he craned forward. "Another white! Three in a day!"

"Impossible!" a disciple near Tansy gasped, her braid swinging. "He's a nobody—where'd he get that?"

Theobald Finch, watching from the advancing group, narrowed his gray eyes, his smirk tightening, while Aurelia Vance's amber gaze widened, her hand clenching her ring. Jorin's sneer vanished, his broad face paling, Lira and Kesh gaping beside him as the light held, fierce and unwavering.

But it didn't stop. Roderic's breath steadied, the qi flowing stronger, a current he hadn't meant to unleash—not yet, not fully. The white shimmered, trembling, then shifted—beyond white, into a color no one could name. Ethereal, radiant, like starlight woven with mist, it pulsed with a soft, otherworldly glow that defied the stones' known limits. The runes blazed, their edges burning bright, and the orb hummed—a deep, resonant note that vibrated through the slabs, shaking dust from the pillars.

The crowd froze, a stunned hush falling, then exploded into chaos. "What is that?!" a villager shrieked, voice breaking with awe. "It's not white—it's more!"

"Never seen that color!" another shouted, a woman clutching her child, eyes wide. "What does it mean?"

"Look at the stone—it's trembling!" a disciple yelled, pointing as the orb quivered on its pedestal, its runes pulsing frantically. "It can't handle him!"

Merchants climbed carts for a better view, villagers pressed against the ropes, their cheers a deafening roar—"A prodigy!" "A legend!" "He's beyond them all!"—while others whispered in fear, "That's not natural," "What is he?" The noise swelled, a tidal wave of shock and wonder, drowning out the courtyard's usual hum.

The elders staggered, the lead one—his steel-wool beard trembling—gripping his staff as he stared, mouth agape. "Unheard of," he rasped, voice lost in the din, turning to his peers. "In three hundred years—no record—no precedent—"

"It's beyond white," a second elder, a wiry woman with sharp eyes, cut in, her scroll slipping from her hands. "The stones weren't made for this. His qi—it's rewriting the measure!"

"Could it be a fluke?" a third, bald and stooped, muttered, shaking his head. "No—a fluke doesn't hum like that. It's alive, pure—too pure!"

The lead elder raised a hand, silencing them, his face pale but resolute. "We've seen talent—Finch, Vance—but this… this is a singularity. The boy's a marvel."

Roderic opened his eyes, the ethereal glow reflecting in his hazel irises, and stepped back, the light fading to a shimmering afterimage. His hand tingled, his core still thrumming, and he blinked, stunned. The qi had surged—more than he'd meant, more than he'd known he had. The stone's hum lingered, vibrating in his bones, and he glanced at Barnaby, whose gentle smile had frozen into wide-eyed awe.

"Did you see that?" Barnaby whispered, voice trembling over the crowd's roar. "Roderic, that wasn't just white—it was…"

"Yeah," Roderic managed, his grin faltering into dazed wonder. He hadn't pushed—not fully. The qi still coiled in his core, vast and untapped, a depth he'd barely brushed. The relic's shards had done this—given him a well he hadn't dared plumb. What would happen if he'd given it all?

The elder stepped forward, his voice shaking but firm, cutting through the chaos. "Roderic Vane—unprecedented. The most talented qi in centuries—perhaps ever. Advance." The words hit like thunder, the crowd erupting anew—shouts of "Legend!" "He's the one!"—merchants waving hats, villagers clapping, disciples staring in stunned silence.

Tansy couldn't hold back. She shoved through the onlookers, her shawl slipping as she broke past the ropes, her voice shrill and proud. "That's my brother!" she shouted, pointing at Roderic, her curls wild in the wind. "Roderic Vane's my brother, and I'm proud of him! You hear me? That's my brother!"

Heads turned, the crowd parting as she stood there, freckles stark against flushed skin, green eyes blazing with tears and triumph. "He did it!" she yelled, laughing now, fists pumping. "Told you all—he's the best! My brother's the best!"

Roderic caught her gaze, his shock softening into a grin, and he waved, a small gesture that sent her beaming wider. "Tansy," he called, voice warm over the din, "told you I'd do it."

"You didn't just do it!" she shot back, tears streaming as she grinned. "You broke their stupid test! You're amazing!"

The onlookers roared again—some cheering her, others still gawking at Roderic—Jorin's crew silenced, Theobald smirking faintly, Aurelia's fierce curiosity gleaming. The elders huddled, their murmurs urgent—"We must study him," "A threat or a gift?"—their scrolls forgotten as they grappled with the impossible.

Roderic stood there, the ethereal afterglow gone, his heart pounding—not from effort, but from the realization sinking in. He hadn't given everything. The qi still surged in his core, a vast sea he'd only dipped into, its depths whispering of power he couldn't yet grasp. What would happen if he had? The thought stunned him further, a thrill laced with unease, as the crowd's awe crashed over him, Tansy's proud voice the loudest note of all.