[Severed Divinity] 93. Aura Training

“That sounds... incredible,” Isen said. His expression and tone didn’t match his words. It would be incredible, if it were possible. A few days ago, he would’ve taken the Femera patriarch’s words without question, but he could no longer see him in the same light after the night in the palace.

Welco was intelligent and cunning, and Isen respected his opinions and insights, but he clearly wasn’t all knowing. And in this case—in these specific circumstances—the tier three was out of his depth.

“I can’t say if you’ll be able to make any meaningful progress in the limited time you have here,” Welco added. “Regardless, it’s not every day you get to sharpen yourself on the whetstone of a tier four’s aura. I’d be remiss to let you miss out on the opportunity.”

Though he was still skeptical, Isen walked carefully over the ice, approaching the resting monster. Welco followed close behind, his hands clasped behind his back.

Isen craned his neck. “You don’t have to accompany me.”

Welco stifled a laugh. “Isen—you’re not the only one who serves to benefit from the Anarch’s domain. Why do you think I was standing right next to it when you intruded on this passage?”

The tips of Isen’s ears reddened, but his face remained composed. “Oh. Did you ever get to temper your aura against the queen?”

“No. Even if she’d have let me, her aura is more destructive than most.”

With every step, the divine beast’s aura grew in intensity. Soon, Isen’s teeth were chattering, his body protesting the numbing cold. He stopped, wondering if he’d gone too far. While he braced himself against intangible icy winds, Welco continued forward.

Isen’s breathing came in short, labored puffs of air. Meanwhile, the shadow mage looked almost comfortable as he took the final steps before reaching the beasts side, his sleeves starting to show signs of the intense cold, icy spindles forming on his sleeves and hair.

He closed his eyes and sat.

With a grunt, Isen forced his knees to bend and sat down, mimicking the Femera patriarch. It was difficult, his stiff limbs protesting any kind of movement. Isen felt genuine concern for his own wellbeing—he wasn’t sure if this kind of cold might damage him after long exposure. He’d seen frostbite and hypothermia before, though always on mortals.

His sixth sense wasn’t screaming at him to leave—quite the contrary—so he swallowed his reservations and tried to cultivate. But the soreness of his meridians made it more difficult than it would have been even without the terrible aura making each breath feel like inhaling glass dust.

It didn’t feel healthy or sustainable, though not in the same way it felt when he tried to cultivate in an area with too high a concentration of ambient energy. In such cases, he asphyxiated, the environment almost toxic, requiring retreat. Now, he could actually cultivate if he pushed through the pain.

So he did. He forced himself to keep cycling, all the while hoping that there was some wisdom to Welco’s plan, that his soul was growing stronger just by being in the Anarch’s presence.

An inner heat grew inside Isen as he forced the energy through his hollow rings. He found that revolving the energy multiple times before exiting his core helped it pass through his meridians easier, compensating for the enervating cold and the yet unhealed damage. It slowed down his cycling speed, since he had to spend more time on each inhale and exhale, but it worked.

As Isen descended deeper into a cultivation trance, a new worry manifested. He began to suspect that it wasn’t just the cold and his meridian injuries that made his cultivation feel off. Something had changed. It almost seemed like he was getting less energy from a cycle, even when slowing down.

It felt like half a step backward, and he didn’t understand it. But there wasn’t anything to be done for now, so he tamped down on his worries.

At least the pain of the frost aura was a good distraction.

Some time after his thoughts truly went blank, Isen began to feel something from the sixth sense. A new nudging. His mind didn’t overly scrutinize it—he felt as though in a dream, and just did what felt right, following his intuition.

There was something inside him that he’d never noticed before. It was warm and sharp. It brought to mind the sensation of drawing a knife to the flesh. He felt it inside him, a membrane overlaid on his meridians, beneath the skin, and he couldn’t ignore the discomfort it caused him. It felt like every movement he made caused it to slice into him, and he itched to tear it out.

Suddenly, he snapped out of his meditative state. He was on his knees and hands, his entire body numb. Panicked, he tried to stand, only to stumble back. The fall alerted Welco, who had been sitting next to the divine beast, eyes closed.

A shadow split from the shadow mage’s side, appearing before Isen and grabbing his armor, pulling him away from the sleeping monster. Isen was on his side, breathing shallowly, his head hanging down. Welco joined the shadow a few beats later, kneeling next to him.

“Hey!” he called, voice filled with alarm. “Can you hear me?”

Isen groaned. His lips were nearly frozen shut. “I’m okay.” He shifted his position, settling onto his back. In the dark, Isen had trouble discerning the mage’s expression, just that his brow was furrowed and his jaw was set.

“Isen... why didn’t you move back when it became too much?” Welco rubbed his forehead. “It’s common sense.”

“You told me to go as close to the beast as possible. I was making the most out of the opportunity.”

“What if you’d fallen unconscious within the Anarch’s aura?”

I can sense danger—the sixth sense wouldn’t let that happen. That’s what Isen wanted to argue, but he remained silent, leaving the Femera patriarch’s question hanging.

Welco sighed and turned to the side, his arms folded across his chest. “Since reaching the third tier, I’ve never made the offer to take anyone under the age of forty as a disciple. With elves—mages—it’s common to wait at least that long.”

Isen’s breath gradually slowed, his limbs regaining feeling.

“I saw in you a rare spark, before I even knew of your special abilities. When I saw you in the palace, learned who you truly were and who you represented, I wondered. Was it all an act? Coming to me, my clan, taking what we had to teach you?” Heat rose in Welco’s voice. A second passed, then he continued, calm once more. “How did you take a monster as your master? As kin?”

Isen blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. “Ros saved me, and I saved Ros.”

“It saved you first?”

“I was lost in monster-infested tunnels and didn’t know anything of cultivation. It could have killed me or kept walking. Instead, it placed me on its back.”

Welco was quiet for a time. “Why?”

“I told it I always knew the way to go. I guess it believed me.”

“Is that all?”

Isen sighed. In hindsight, after coming to know Ros, it was clear that the monster had initially saved him out of a mix of curiosity, loneliness, and pity. Not that it had taken long for Isen to prove his worth.

“You said Ros is tier three,” Welco continued, after it became clear Isen wouldn’t expand upon his answer. “How did you save it?”

Isen closed his eyes. “Why are you so interested?”

“Personal curiosity,” Welco replied. “I have never met sapient tier three monsters. Only intelligent drayavin and the divine beast. I want to better understand the basis of your relationship.”

“Long story short, Ros defeated a powerful monster, but was severely injured. I helped it recover. If you ever meet Ros, it can tell you the full story.”

Isen stood, shaking out his limbs. He stretched, rolled his neck, and rubbed his calves and arms. He walked toward the resting tier four, his jaw clenching as the cold intensified, like walking outside in the middle of a snowstorm.

“Do you have a death wish?” Welco asked.

“I’m close to something,” Isen replied. “I can feel it.”

“You were nearly frozen solid a minute ago,” the patriarch stated firmly. “You’re only tier two. Give your body time to naturally recover.”

“I’m fine,” Isen retorted. “As an assurance, if you have to help me again, I promise to stop.” He went deeper into the tier four’s aura, back to the spot where he’d originally sat. He blocked everything out, even Welco’s continued protests. It was only him and the frigid undulations. He could feel them more clearly now, tugging on that painful membrane beneath his skin.

He focused on maintaining an awareness of his body’s state, and when the cold became too much, he retreated. Welco remained in the same spot as before, making sure Isen didn’t negligently kill himself.

“You don’t have to keep watch for me,” Isen said. Welco’s expressions were still hard to read in the dark, but Isen could tell the man was unamused. Isen’s chest tightened with guilt. “I’m used to being self sufficient.”

The next time Isen entered the frigid aura, Welco was still waiting when he returned. The time after that, however, the shadow mage retook his place next to the resting monster, returning to his own training.

Isen found it difficult to judge the passage of time, but he guessed that six hours passed before Welco spoke again. “Isen, go to the farthest edge of the ice, away from the Anarch,” he commanded. He almost didn’t hear Welco, but the mage’s voice sounded right in his ears, courtesy of a shadow puppet.

Ever since the palace, Welco had spoken more casually to Isen, as though recognizing that the illusion of powerful patriarch had cracked. Now he spoke with authority, sounding every bit the tier three he was. Isen didn’t question the order and left the potent aura, watching from the edge of the ice platform.

Welco took several strides away from Sumana Laius and layered shadows upon his body until it looked like he’d entombed himself in a black coffin. Then, Welco woke the beast. Isen wasn’t even sure how, just that the only eye visible from Isen’s angle cracked open.

The Dray Anarch roared, its teeth bared in a terrifying display, shockwaves rippling through Welco’s shadowy defenses. Then, it snorted and unfurled itself, stretching, its gaze locked on Welco.

The shadow shield dropped, revealing Welco kneeling, his head bowed. “I have news.”

“Speak.”

“Devon Aran has entered the city.”