When Volithur’s rage cooled, he began to cultivate chaos. His new conviction brought a crity to his existence that had been cking ever since his parents died. He was no longer the weak child who had helplessly watched their execution. With his current power level he could have eliminated the soldiers who did the deed.

  Some day he would have the power to punish the leaders. That was his purpose. To grow strong enough to destroy those who had wronged him. It shamed him that he had taken so long to reach the obvious conclusion. The Lord General wasn’t his friend. He wasn’t a kind benefactor who could elevate Volithur’s station. He was a beast in human form who terrorized helpless civilians while pretending he was fighting worthwhile battles.

  Volithur made rapid progress before exhaustion forced a stop. He had trouble telling the passage of time in the cell, but he estimated two hours had passed. With nothing else to do, Volithur switched to cultivating with his aura. When the cosmic energy became too sparse, he switched to drawing from the mental band. Then he returned to cultivating chaos.

  His efforts were interrupted by the opening of the cell door. The young man from the family council stepped inside. “Ward Harridan? I have brought your bread and water for the day.”

  Volithur hid the hatred beneath a calm expression. “Bread and water? How generous, Master Liam.”

  “It’s tradition to eat simply during closed door cultivation to minimize all distractions. You are not permitted anything that could take your attentions from your purpose in here. Every other day I will bring you fresh clothing. Otherwise, the only interaction you will experience is the daily feeding. I will repce your chamber pot at that time if you have used it.”

  “Does Khana know where I am?”

  “Your situation is public knowledge. I am not permitted to say more than that. You will need to advance your level if you wish to sate your curiosity, Ward Harridan.”

  “It seems all the incentives are aligned,” Volithur said.

  “That is the purpose of closed door cultivation, Ward Harridan. I will return tomorrow.”

  Alone once more, Volithur allowed the suppressed sneer to contort his features. He finished his cycle of chaos cultivation before rising to explore his delivery. There were three loaves of bread and a cy ewer filled with lukewarm water. He judged the portion size enough to sustain but insufficient to satiate. He would be kept on the edge of discomfort during his time here.

  Volithur ate one of the loaves and gulped about a third of the water. Then he moved to the chair and stared at the wall, emptying his mind. The cosmic energy would not have recharged in the room so quickly, meaning he could do nothing productive of his goal until he regained enough stamina to manipute chaos.

  He’d read about meditation a few times in the library’s cultivation manuals. It was a distinct practice from mental cultivation and mental enhancement. Though meditation didn’t offer any power-ups, it did have many benefits. Volithur hoped it would increase his recovery time. Even if it did not, he needed to do something with his time other than screaming at the walls.

  When he felt ready to cultivate once more, the room had gone dark. The weak light of day no longer entered through the air shaft. Volithur found his mattress by touch and y upon it to continue his cultivation practice. He went until exhausted and slept.

  Thus began the cycle of his new existence.

  Feed upon chaos until exhausted. Nibble bread and sip water. Do some calisthenics. Meditate. Resume cultivation. Repeat. Once a day, someone would arrive to care for his basic needs. Often it would be Master Liam. Sometimes it would be Master Evan or Master Catherine instead. They left him bread and water, then exchanged his chamber pot.

  He mostly ignored the nobles. Volithur hoped they didn’t take offense to his disregard, but he didn’t fully trust himself not to rage at them if he spoke. Irrespective of his spite, he still felt grateful for the removal of the used chamber pots. The room was neither rge nor well-ventited.

  His thoughts turned repeatedly towards pns for the future. How he would visit justice upon his tormentors. How he would bring down the mighty. Volithur let himself stew in those vindictive dreams only so long. They were not his reality and he could not afford to get ahead of himself.

  There were also moments of such loneliness that he wept and cried out for Khana. He desperately wanted to see her, or even just hear her voice through the door. Instead, he worked towards his advancement.

  Once a day he worked his aura and mental cultivation, but that provided only a tiny drop in the rge bucket he needed for level five. Most of his time went towards taming chaos, turning it into a potent resource. As the days passed, marked by deliveries and the darkening of his dreary cell, Volithur began to refine his method of exploiting his true insight.

  His original method was a brute force approach. He wrestled chaos into submission. His technique may have been informed by perfect understanding, but it was not strategic. It was a dramatic, effortful affair that left him exhausted. He could process chaos in smaller doses, perform the transformations that were most natural and easy for a human soul, filter the cosmic energy, and expel the difficult bits.

  Using his improved method, Volithur could triple the amount of time he cultivated chaos. With the slower speed of transformation, that only transted into about a doubling of his overall rate, but that still represented a great improvement.

  Cultivate. Eat. Exercise. Meditate. Repeat.

  Occasionally scream at the walls, sob while hugging himself, or reminisce about life before his abduction. Those unproductive spells could not be avoided. Volithur’s ambitions and self-control had definite limits. He had to accept that. His only concern was that he might lose his conviction should his situation become comfortable once more. That could never be allowed.

  Time lost meaning to him. Every moment stretched out into an almost unbearable eternity. Yet also he found himself shocked every time the door opened to reveal another day had passed so soon. Volithur hardly even noticed at first how rapidly his soul filled with cosmic energy.

  Then its saturation became an obsession. That was his goal in this cell, after all. The initial progress may have been hard to track, since reaching level five required five times as much energy as reaching level four. As his soul saturated, it became easier to detect the small addition each cultivation session made.

  A fierce pride mingled in with the anger, frustration, and loneliness he felt. Most of the members of the family in the Fifth Household were only level five. He would be their equal soon. Not in social status, perhaps, but in level at least. He was already superior in combat to most of the soft nobles he knew.

  The sense of his impending victory and escape drove Volithur to push harder and longer than before. Then, one day, shortly after his cell was illuminated by the diffuse ray of sunlight, it happened. Volithur’s soul crossed the threshold.

  Every bit of energy held within the cavity at its heart drained into the walls of his soul, thickening and strengthening them. Volithur excimed in joy at his achievement, jumping up and down, spping the walls, and cheering for himself.

  His confinement was finally over.

  In theory, at least. He still had to wait for someone from the family council to show up to release him. By his estimate, that would take many more hours. Volithur sank to his knees in disappointment at having his freedom deyed.

  Then, with nothing better to do, he resumed his cultivation.