[Severed Divinity] 54. Cultivation Cave

“On three,” Arthum announced. “One, two… three!”

Isen didn’t move. Neither did his opponent.

“Since you’re new, you get the first move,” Freyan said. “Let’s see what you got!”

Isen stalked forward, unsure what would work on an opponent with superior speed and on-par reflexes. He figured using external energy manipulation, while perhaps impressive, wouldn’t be in the spirit of the spar.

He cycled energy through his meridians and dashed forward. Freyan deflected his arm and shifted her weight, throwing a punch toward his stomach. Isen credited the sixth sense for his successful dodge. It wasn’t just Freyan’s legs that moved quickly—her arm had been a blur, even to his enhanced perception.

Freyan followed through with a sweep of her leg, though Isen predicted that from the previous spar. He danced out of the way, swiping at her. As he did so, he remembered that drawing blood would end the spar, but he was already in motion. He hadn’t clawed at her with the intent to injure, but it sounded like even a scratch would count. In his spar with Talis, his nails had scratched up the half elf’s armor.

He froze with indecision. Freyan dodged the blow and took advantage of his hesitation, planting a palm on his chest.

“Stop,” Arthum called. “Freyan’s win.” He smiled. “Not bad, newcomer.”

Freyan bounced. “You made me work for it!”

It had only been five or six seconds, so Isen doubted that. He felt frustrated. At himself, for losing. But he also knew the frustration wasn’t helpful.

He hadn’t come to Clan Femera to win. He’d come to the clan in pursuit of opportunity. Freyan’s victory was proof that there was much he stood to gain from the clan’s knowledge and resources.

The hard part was separating the loss from his own self-worth and pride.

Isen knew how to hunt… and how to kill. Those skills weren’t too useful in a short spar where drawing blood was a disqualifier. Just because he didn’t yet know how to spar well didn’t invalidate all his other skills and experience.

That’s what he told himself.

The loss still rankled.

“When did you break through?” Arthum asked.

Isen rolled his shoulder. “Five or six weeks ago?”

The boy nodded and took his position across from Isen. “And how old are you?”

“Thirteen.” Isen frowned. “Almost fourteen.”

Arthum sighed and chuckled softly. “You’re lucky Freyan didn’t hear that.” Isen spared the girl a glance; sure enough, she was focused on the cultivators in the main circle. “You’re the youngest in the clade to reach the second tier.”

“Does that really matter?”

“People say the faster you advance, the further you’ll go. It’s an indirect measure of talent.”

“I’ve heard that what’s important is gaining experiences,” Isen said. “Seeing the world. Not the speed of advancement in and of itself.”

Arthum’s expression fell. “Sounds like something a tier three would say.” He coughed and called to Freyan. “Pay attention! It’s your turn to officiate.”

“Coming!”

This time, Isen didn’t focus on fighting. He fixated on Arthum’s limbs and the way energy moved around them. What could Arthum teach him?

In the end, not much. The spar lasted eight seconds.

By unspoken agreement, they stopped sparring and turned their attention on the cultivators flowing through exercises. It almost looked like the cultivators were dancing. Isen recognized the fluidity of their motions in the strikes of Freyan and Arthum.

“What kind of training is this?” he wondered.

Freyan looked over her shoulder. “They’re flowing through the Femera sequences, the foundation of our clan’s cultivation art. The idea is to do it over and over again until it becomes a part of you, burned into your muscle memory.” She clenched her fist. “It looks simple, but it’s really hard.”

“I don’t think it looks simple,” Isen said. He saw the way energy ebbed and flowed around each cultivator’s limbs. Every motion was deliberate. “Is the primary there?”

“No,” Freyan replied. “A’s and B’s are exempt from group practice. Minors too, if that wasn’t obvious.”

So these were all of Clan Femera’s rank C, D, and E cultivators, assuming E was the lowest tier two went. Isen paid more attention to the appearances of the practicing elves. He guessed they were between twenty to forty human years of age, though most were probably significantly older.

There were nearly a thousand of them in the circle. It didn’t sound like a lot, compared to the number of people in a city like Eldrassin, but if Clan Femera invaded a kingdom like Dawnbreak, Isen would easily bet on the clan. And that was only considering the cultivators—Arthum had said that the clan was mage-heavy.

Yet, by the standards of the other Eldrassin clans, Clan Femera was considered small?

Isen wondered why the elves hadn’t just taken over the human lands when they had this kind of power. And how about Dray, the northern nuisance? What stopped them from attacking the monsters and drayavin and putting an end to the threat for good?

How did Welco’s plans factor into all of that? What of the other six Eldrassin tier three clans? If Eldrassin became a wasteland, where would they go?

“Isen?” Arthum said, jolting Isen from his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“We’re going to the cultivation cave. You coming?”

He nodded.

Arthum had pointed out the supposed “cave” on his earlier tour. The cultivation cave was an underground passage that ran through the clan’s territory and had rooms with high energy density. The effect was natural, and supposedly part of why Lumina Eldrassin had established her capital city here.

The entrance was on the left side of the clan between two tall tents. One was an armory, the other full of miscellaneous goods ranging from simple pots to smooth squares covered in enchantments. A bit further left, Isen recognized the large, four-story structure—still made of cloth, but with a boxy shape reminiscent of typical buildings—as the magister’s tower. The place where mages studied. Unlike the rest of the compound, the tower had a smattering of windows torn from the dark cloth. Isen didn’t see anyone inside.

The cultivation cave’s entrance was impossible to ignore, marked by broad stone doors conspicuously dark gray and flecked with red, unlike the rest of the white rock. It looked like a cross between a beast petrified with its mouth open and an ancient crypt. The steps were composed of the same cool, dark stone. Ambient energy wafted from the entrance like a hot breath.

“Rest day is usually the best time to go,” Arthum murmured. “It’s even better now, since the tier twos are out drilling.”

Isen breathed in deeply as they descended, cycling as they walked. It was closer in density to the energy in the depths. Though Isen had grown used to the energy density on the surface, the denser energy felt like how he thought home might feel, if he’d ever had one. Part of that familiarity might have been the dark corridors, though Isen didn’t find that part of the depths particularly homey.

“These chambers at the entrance are all for the tier ones,” Freyan explained, her feet blurring down the steps. “The next level down starts the tier two rooms. The general rule is to go as far as you can and stop when the energy density feels suffocating.”

They descended deeper. Passages branched off from the stairs all the while, but Freyan never deviated from her course. Isen noticed a few young elves from breakfast sitting in one of the rooms as they passed.

As before, Freyan and Arthum didn’t acknowledge them.

Haven’t we passed several floors by now? Isen wondered. What did Freyan mean by the next level down?

Suddenly, they encountered a broad wall that covered the entirety of the passage. A thin door was carved into its center. Freyan cycled her energy, the ambient mist flowing around her hand as she placed it on the door, which glowed in response and clicked open. She looked back and shot her companions a devious grin. “Shall we?”

When Isen passed through the door behind Freyan and Arthum, his eyes widened. He placed a hand to his chest. The energy here was even more dense, about the same as depths. And this was just the beginning of the tier two area, the hallway?

“You okay?” Arthum asked.

Isen tipped his head. “It’s incredible.”

The boy smiled. “Clan Femera’s cultivation cave is as good as any other clan’s in terms of quality. It’s just a little small, but that’s never been a problem for us.”

“Quality over quantity!” Freyan cheered. “Okay. So, Isen. How this works is you go down the hallway and find the right room through trial and error. We’ll first take you pretty far down so you can get a taste for a room that will be too much for you. Sound good?”

“Sure.” He couldn’t wait.

Freyan led them down the passage for a full minute before stopping before an archway. “We’ll go in together,” she said encouragingly.

When Isen stepped through the threshold, he felt the difference immediately. There must have been some sort of transparent barrier cordoning off the room from the hallway, because the difference in energy density was immense. It felt maybe three times as dense as the outside.

He breathed in, closing his eyes, and cycled. His seven rings practically purred within his hollow core. The rush of energy flowing through his body was ecstasy.

His eyes snapped open as someone shook his shoulder. Arthum. “Hey! Are you okay?” There was genuine concern there. Freyan shared the expression.

“What?”

“You’re not supposed to actually cultivate here,” Freyan said.

“Why not?”

“It’s too overwhelming!” she exclaimed.

“Not for me,” Isen said honestly. “It feels incredible.”

His two escorts shared a doubtful look. “Really? This feels incredible?”

Isen closed his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Also, your eye is glowing,” Freyan said. “Is that supposed to happen?”

Isen wasn’t sure—Ros never mentioned his eye glowing when cycling. It felt fine. “Don’t worry about it,” Isen assured her.

“Our goal is to find your limit first,” Arthum interjected. “That means we need to keep going. If you’re really sure this isn’t too much for you.”

“Fine,” Isen relented.

When they left the room, he shuddered. It felt like leaving a warm bath. Freyan and Arthum had a different reaction. Freyan sighed in relief, while Arthum’s shoulders relaxed.

Freyan led them another half minute down the tunnel, then stopped before another archway.

“Freyan, I don’t know…” Arthum said, uncertainty in his gaze. “This one’s rated for C’s and up.”

Isen looked around for an indicator. Sure enough, there was a small mark above the entrance—a C.

“What was the previous one rated for?” Isen asked.

“D’s,” Arthum said, still staring at Freyan.

“It’ll be fine for a second,” she said. “This is just a test, remember?”

Arthum’s lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval, but he nodded. “You’re not supposed to go into chambers more than a rank above you. We’ll get away with it because nobody’s in this one, but just… keep that in mind for the future.”

This time, Isen went in first.

The chamber was literally suffocating. It was nearly opaque with ambient energy. It was an odd feeling, like the energy was so dense it pushed away the air.

He wasn’t comfortable here, but it wasn’t unbearable.

Freyan and Arthum only stuck their heads through, and even that seemed to be too much for them, the blood visibly rushing to their heads. Isen stepped back into the hallway. “Yeah, that was too much.”

They spent the next fifteen minutes walking Isen through the chambers on the way back. There was one chamber in particular that called to him, one close to the original D-ranked chamber he’d tried. It just felt right.

“This one,” Isen said.

By now, Freyan and Arthum seemed convinced that he wasn’t just trying to impress them by withstanding an uncomfortable cultivation environment. “Are you sure?” Arthum asked.

“Positive.”

Freyan worried at her lip. “Okay, well, we’ll see you later, then. Tomorrow morning, at least.”

“See you.”

Their footsteps faded away, leaving him in blessed silence.