It was exactly what Blū didn’t need—some traveler turning up to ruin his day. And even better, this “guest” didn’t seem to understand the concept of refusal. He tried to walk away, but—unsurprisingly—the stranger followed. So what else could he do but turn around and repeat himself?

  “Didn’t I say ‘no’? What more do I have to say?”

  “Could I at least hear it from the Master himself?” the stranger asked.

  Blū sighed. “What’d you say your name was?”

  “Yig.”

  “Alright, Yig. The Master is sleeping right now, and I’m not going to be the one to wake him up. So—it’s been nice meeting you.”

  “Then let me wait here.”

  “I’d need to ask Master Silver first, and we just established why I can’t do that.”

  “Why don’t we just find him and—?”

  “No! Don’t ask that. You don’t just casually walk into someone’s home and ask to wake them up. If you want to wait, you and your sheep can do it outside.”

  Surprisingly, this “Yig” seemed to reflect for a moment. For a young man who radiated such an impressive, potent aura to stop and consider—it was rare, to say the least. Unusually humble… perhaps manipulative.

  “How do I know you’ll let me back in?!”

  “You don’t. Waiting for another occasion would be polite, but I suppose that was too much to ask of a simpleton like yourself.”

  Yig’s face twisted in clear offense, but before he could speak, a bellowing voice silenced them both.

  “That’s enough, Blū! I am awake, so there is no need to continue interrogating him in my stead.”

  Blū grumbled as he stepped aside, making way for his master, who emerged from the temple corridors into its outer domain. He was tall—almost seven feet—with shoulder-length gray hair, complemented by an equally long, hanging goatee. His face was wrinkled, not from age, but from a stern expression that had become nearly permanent. He wore a sleeveless silk shirt in a vivid shade of blue, paired with loose silk leggings of the same color.

  “Why have you come to me?” Master Silver asked solemnly, staring down at a jittery Yig.

  “The chief of the really patient village with all the wood carving told me to come here.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “You’re talking about Sharirun?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Well… that’s not a full answer. He may have sent you, but you haven’t told me why.”

  “I need to train with mana, and I was told you’re the one to come to for that.”

  Master Silver’s scowl cracked slightly as his eyes widened. “Your only training was in Sharirun, I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  Blū couldn’t help but laugh—but stopped when he heard a second chuckle. His gaze shot to the roof of the temple, where his fellow student, Oy, sat in his usual spot. Blū didn’t know who else he expected.

  Oy was a man of a similar young age, though he seemed far older, with an incredibly tall frame, long black hair, and scruff across his jawline. Around his waist hung his white uniform, open to reveal the muscular build of his arms and chest.

  “I cannot help you,” the Master continued. “I cannot teach someone already bound to a style like the Stealth Arts. I apologize.”

  “I am not of Sharirun myself. That’s just where I was trained. And I used mana before going there, even if I didn’t know what it was at the time.”

  Clearly displeased by the idea, Silver rubbed his face. Yig stood in quiet suspense as the master considered his response. To Blū, it was clear what Silver wanted to say—the real question was whether he could justify saying it.

  “We don’t call it ‘using mana,’” Blū said. “It’s called Exure—the practice of controlling one’s mana.”

  Yig nodded. “I know about that. It’s the basics of training with your mana, right?”

  “Sort of,” said the master. “While you can ‘strengthen’ your aura, it’s nothing without a method for using it. The Stealth Arts they taught you are just one of many ways to channel mana—a technique that forms part of the larger discipline called Exure, ‘the practice of one’s spirit.’ Imagine a group of children, each given a lump of clay—some soft, some hard—and from that clay, they each create something unique. Some may make pots and go on to teach others to do the same. But over time, the focus on pots becomes more important than the art of the clay itself. In the worst cases, their obsession becomes so narrow, they forget to teach the potential of the clay.”

  “Right,” the visitor said. “So… I need to make new pots?”

  Blū paused, unsure whether the boy was joking or just stupid. It was hard to tell.

  “What did they teach you, if not the Stealth Arts?” Silver asked.

  “Activation and Location.”

  The master scratched his beard. “The latter is simple. There’s nothing I can do that repetition wouldn’t achieve. Activation, however, is a good example of Stearna’s lack of complexity when it comes to the fundamentals of Exure. From what I can tell, you’ve trained your aura well—but if you’ve come to me, it suggests you lack the confidence to use it. It would take considerable time to produce satisfactory results, and so, I apologize and bid you farewell.”

  Blū held his breath as a sudden presence sent a chill through him. Judging by the expressions around him, the other men had felt it too. An intense aura was approaching—steadily, powerfully. For a moment, he looked at their guest, thinking perhaps Yig had bared his spiritual fangs as a threat. But then he saw Yig turn to the stairs behind him.

  From them rose a man in a deep purple cloak, clutching a large bottle filled with a golden liquid, rich in color like honey. Now that Blū could sense the aura clearly, he felt foolish for mistaking it as Yig’s. This man’s strength could easily rival Master Silver’s.

  “Why not teach him a few tricks?” the cloaked master suggested. “He’s made it this far. Maybe all he needs is a nudge in the right direction.” He chuckled, flashing a childish smile.