“Alright, gramps,” Blake said, holding Ethbin’s ring as he sat cross-legged on his bed. He’d shut his door and stuffed a blanket under it. “How do I do the Foundation thing?”

  The first stage Foundation one is known as Echo Hardening. It is the first step to improving your own Echo.

  “How do I actually…harden it?”

  What is your echo?

  “Uhhh…I feel like this is a guiding question, but I don’t know the answer. Or don’t remember.”

  A manifestation of your Honour, locked away in another plane of existence. A spiritual realm of sorts parallel to ours. The echo is the blueprint for your spiritual organs and channel system. As you improve that foundation, the stronger your spiritual system and organs will be, the more aligned to your aspect they will become, and the more powerful techniques and abilities you’ll be able to use later in life.

  Blake pressed his lips together and considered for a moment. For the most part, he’d been able to use any ability he wanted, but already, his techniques were putting a strain on his channels and causing buildup.

  If he used more powerful techniques later, was there a chance that he would just completely break his meridians?

  And what if someone else could break his meridians with an attack, too?

  “So Echo Hardening is also going to harden and strengthen my channels, too?” Blake asked.

  Correct. In the short term, you won’t feel much of a change, but in the long term, you will thank yourself for hardening your echo.

  “And how do I do that, though? I doubt I can just…rip it apart and rebuild it, can I?”

  No. You must have the utmost focus on your willpower, and use it to create a protective coating around your Echo. All damage to your echo can be prevented with sufficient willpower, and if you hold this willpower shield long enough, if you make it subconscious, it will become a part of you.

  “Can I give it a try?” Blake asked.

  You can, but you will struggle.

  “Why?”

  You don’t have a strong enough willpower yet.

  “I don’t?” Blake recalled what Ethbin had said about the stage a few days ago, and how Blake would likely get stuck here. But he didn’t really understand why. “I mean, wasn’t Willpower Focussing a stage of Condensation.”

  Focussing your willpower, turning it into a tool for harvesting Honour, is very different from increasing the amount of willpower you have. But go ahead. Try to create a shield around your echo. See what happens.

  Blake practiced for a few hours, well into the evening. He opened his siphon and cast his attention through it, then tested how surges of ‘willpower’ affected the echo.

  Willpower, as he was realizing, was not as loose of a concept as he thought. It was the force that caused Honour to move, it was quite possibly a measure of his soul’s strength. He couldn’t yet envision his soul, but that would come later. The point was, it came from somewhere, and he could use it.

  By now, it was as comfortable as moving a finger. He willed his Honour to move, it did. He could effectively control his willpower, as if it was an invisible force of making things happen within his spiritual system.

  He experimented with moving his echo. At first, he played with the wisps on its surface, shuffling them around and pushing them in whichever direction he wanted. Then, as Ethbin explained, to actually harden the echo, he had to concentrate that surface layer.

  If he was successful, the echo shouldn’t be blurry. It had to be a proper, human shape, with a defined outline.

  If he did it right.

  He managed to compress the outer layer of his Echo’s hand, but the black, wispy lightning didn’t concentrate itself the way he was hoping. Sure, it compressed down, but there was still a slight blur on the echo’s edge, and as soon as he tried to move to the next area, it sprang out of shape.

  Like I said, Ethbin muttered. You don’t have enough willpower.

  “How could I not have enough willpower?”

  You don’t have a guiding principle. You want to gain power for the sake of gaining power. To merely survive. That is insufficient for any cultivator.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “But what else should I—” Blake cut himself off. He already knew the answer to that question, and he knew exactly what Ethbin would tell him. It was his duty to figure that out. “Right. Okay, sorry.” Blake drew his perception outside his body and flopped down onto his back. “So…how do I deal with this? How do I figure it out?”

  It will come to you in time, Ethbin replied. As long as you keep your eyes out, as long as you continue questioning yourself, you will find a reason. In the time being, keep practicing focusing your willpower, so when you do find your reason, you will advance to the next stage in an instant.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, at breakfast, Blake tracked down Iver and Froskur and sat between them. They’d just been out on a hunting mission, and they both looked exhausted. But the better news was that Iver advanced to Tempering stage two, and Froskur to stage three. They were both giddy.

  Blake tried to be as casual as he could, but he also wasn’t going to sit around and wait like Ethbin wanted him to. He’d seek inspiration on his own.

  “So…why do you two cultivate, anyway?” Blake asked, picking at his bowl of oatmeal.

  “I don’t know,” Iver said. “It is family tradition, I suppose. My father, and his father, and his father before him, they all cultivated. Supposedly, we come from a line of Nord raiders—back when there still were raiders—who pillaged Umber-kin worlds for cultivation resources.”

  Blake nodded. It didn’t really seem like Iver was going to be all that helpful. He was probably in a worse place for understanding his willpower than Blake was.

  But then again, cultivating because you felt like you had to? Was it all that different from Blake?

  “I’ve never really known comfort,” Froskur said. “And I mean, like, I want to live a life where I can relax. Maybe I’ll pursue some kind of art. I always wanted to be a playwright. But I can’t do that if I’m always trying to catch the wagon, so to say. I need some kind of strength. And if the sect helps me get there…well, perhaps I can become an elder one day and live a relaxing life, like Elder Ulfreld.”

  That was slightly more helpful, but Blake still wasn’t seeing how it applied to himself. Still, he nodded along anyway and finished eating his oatmeal.

  As soon as he’d left the hall and was alone, he slipped Ethbin’s ring onto his finger and whispered to the old man, “Okay, point taken. Perhaps this is going to be harder than I thought. But you don’t win. Not yet. I’m going to figure this out.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The next few weeks passed quickly. Blake spent as much time as he could with Wind-Eyes in sparring practice. Although Blake was still technically stronger than Wind-Eyes, the man was a better fighter than him.

  Even without any techniques, Blake’s body was physically stronger than Wind-Eyes’. Wind-Eyes made up for it with his echo set, but that was fine. Blake needed to get used to fighting people who could overwhelm him.

  Besides, Wind-Eyes almost always won with skill, anyway. He’d been practicing for far longer than Blake ever had.

  Moreover, he had Blake train against others in the sect, too. Other Foundation-level hunters trying to improve their skills. Blake won a few times, lost a few times, but Wind-Eyes seemed pleased to have someone they could train against, and it helped Blake, too. The entire sect was improving.

  At first, Blake didn’t see the reasoning. But the Foundation-level hunters tended to be quite picky about their opponents, where Blake wasn’t. Fighting someone weaker than them, like Wind-Eyes (even though Wind-Eyes was far more skilled), they took as a great dishonour. But now, Wind-Eyes could indirectly train them. In turn, Ulfreld rewarded Wind-Eyes with a higher stipend of contribution points.

  Every second week, he took hunting missions—enough to keep his points stocked up, and to visit Mingel.

  Those training sessions…well, he couldn’t say that they were more productive than the ones in the pavilion. But it allowed him to practice his techniques without fear. Black Palm and Serpent’s Cloak activated like riding a bike now, and he shifted back and forth through his triggering loops without hesitation.

  After returning from a session of training with Mingel, and with a fogterror skull and plenty of pelts in tow, he dropped them off at the warehouse and traded for a pouch of contribution points.

  It was more than enough to begin commissioning a staff for himself. He brought them to the armoury, with Wind-Eyes in tow. He hadn’t asked Wind-Eyes to come along, but the man had come anyway. He was watching from a distance.

  Blake tapped on the counter and set the points down, then said, “Hello! I’d…uh, I’d like to begin commissioning a staff.”

  The same attendant as before rushed up to the counter and looked over Blake for a few seconds, then said, “I’m sorry, Senior Brother. We’re all booked.”

  Blake tilted his head. “I’m…sorry. I thought I had made a booking already. I paid you sixty contribution points for early—”

  “Apologies, but we’ve had many bookings already, and th—they’re higher priority.”

  Blake blinked. “So, I have to wait—”

  “I’ve removed your booking from the list, and…” The attendant reached below the counter and retrieved a bag of contribution points. “I will restore your down payment.”

  “Pardon? No, I don’t want my points back. I wanted to commission a staff.”

  “Apologies, Senior Brother. I cannot.”

  Blake swallowed. “There has to be a mistake.”

  “Apologies, but I have lots of work, Senior Brother.” The attendant bowed quickly and rushed away to the back of the armour, disappearing behind a swinging door. Blake stood there, empty handed, staring into the empty room.

  “Come, Junior Brother,” Wind-Eyes said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I was worried this would happen.”

  Blake sighed. “Sir, why?” He reached up and touched one of his horns.

  Wind-Eyes eyes shook his head. “No, Junior Brother. It’s not that. You’ve been stirring up too much trouble. Everyone can see the writing on the wall. The balance of power in this region is about to change, and no one wants to make an enemy of Silverbeard by helping the man who’s about to lose to him.”

  “So I’m on my own?”

  “I’m afraid so. But there’s—”

  Before Wind-Eyes could finish, a bell tolled on the other side of the pavilion. Blake’s head whipped toward it. “Three chimes.”

  “Ulfreld has an announcement to make,” Wind-Eyes said. “Come along.”

  “Yes, sir.”