"Did you foresee everything?"
Toric's voice emerged as a raspy breath, the sound of a man witnessing something he could not quite believe. His hands, still resting on his knees, trembled with the memory of the day's violence. "Is everything happening exactly as you predicted?"
Ashan's smile widened, the expression there and gone, a flicker of something that was almost warmth, almost amusement. His eyes, still holding Toric in that unblinking gaze, gleamed with faint amusement.
"What's there to predict?" He chuckled softly. "This is all just... unfolding. Any intelligent person could see it coming if they bothered to use the brain in their head." He tapped his own temple lightly.
Toric's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Questions clawed at his throat—what happens after the three-month deadline? Will the Mistress honor their deal? What comes next?—but each one died unspoken as he studied Ashan's face, that calm, certain expression, those terrible eyes that seemed to look through flesh into something deeper.
I'll just follow the current. Swim with it. It's carried me this far.
"So." Ashan's voice shifted, becoming clinical. "If your mind is clear of doubt now, there's something I want to test."
The word test landed like a stone in still water. Toric felt his body respond before his mind caught up—goosebumps rising on his arms, a cold trickle down his spine.
What? Again? What now?
Ashan's head tilted, taking in the reaction with visible disappointment. "Don't worry. This will help your energy flow."
Toric's entire demeanor transformed. The fear vanished, replaced by eager gratitude. "Oh! Really? Thank you, Captain! Thank you—"
"One question first." Ashan's voice cut through his rambling. Toric tried to compose himself. "Did you—"
"Nope." Ashan's hands shot forward, gripping Toric's shoulders with surprising strength. "First time. Now turn around."
"Wait—Captain—you're trying this for the first time? What if I die?"
Ashan's fingers tightened. His voice dropped to something cold and surgical, stripped of all warmth. "Then don't think about dying. Trust the process. Cooperate fully, and the chances of death decrease considerably."
Toric stopped struggling. Something in that clinical honesty was more convincing than any reassurance could have been. He turned, presenting his back, sitting straight despite the trembling in his limbs.
"Only by struggling against death," Ashan murmured, "can one achieve what the heart desires."
His hands settled against Toric's back. His eyes ignited—grey-white whirlpools spinning to life in the darkness.
[Life Sense].
The world dissolved into currents of energy, into rivers of light that flowed through channels both open and obstructed. Toric's body became a map of light and shadow.
I can't teach him Order vidya. That would mean his death, not his improvement. But I can help him unblock his natural pathways.
He let his own prana seep outward, a gentle current flowing from his palms into Toric's skin. Not invading—merely present, a template, a guide.
"Steady your breath. Slow inhale. Slow release. Then deep. Regulate your urja."
Toric obeyed. His chest rose and fell in deliberate rhythm.
I can't open all his nadis—those require proper vidya, proper initiation. But I can stimulate some. Clear the worst blockages. Improve the flow.
My eyes show me exactly where the problems are. Yaren said higher-ranked Sharir sadhakas can help lower ones through breath synchronization and energy guidance. I'm not higher-ranked... but I can see what they can only feel.
And I need Toric functional. A broken tool is useless. A sharpened one... useful.
His prana pushed gently against Toric's energy field—and met resistance. Toric's body, instinctively protective, fought the foreign current.
Interesting. Even his unconscious prana has fight.
"Relax. Let it flow. Don't fight."
Beads of sweat formed on Toric's forehead. "I'll... try."
The blockages cluster around his Pingala nadi—the right-side channels. That entire half of his system is sluggish and obstructed. If I can clear even a few of the minor nadis there, his flow will improve dramatically.
He directed his energy toward Toric's right side, maintaining the gentle pressure, the guiding rhythm.
"Sync with me. Match your flow to mine. Focus on your right side."
Toric's face contorted. The effort was visible in the lines of his jaw, the clench of his teeth. But beneath Ashan's enhanced vision, something was happening. The blockages, those dark clots in the rivers of light, were shifting. Cracking. Breaking down.
It's working. Slowly, but working.
I'm not actually entering his nadis—my prana only touches the surface, the skin-deep currents. But he's matching it. His own energy is following the path mine traces, and that path is clearing the way.
Ashan's hands began to shake. The strain of maintaining Life Sense while simultaneously guiding energy was greater than he'd anticipated.
I'm reaching my limit. A Bodnir-ranked sadhaka isn't meant for this—energy manipulation that extends beyond your own body. Beyond your own soul.
"Toric." His voice remained calm, betraying nothing. "I can hold this for a few more minutes. If you want power, endure. If you give up now, you'll be crippled. And I'll have to dispose of the body."
Toric's trembling intensified—then, abruptly, subsided. Something in that cold honesty, that absolute clarity of consequence, focused him as no encouragement could.
I don't want to die. Not like this. Not now.
He reached inside himself, found the sluggish current of his own prana, and pushed—not against Ashan's flow, but with it. Matching it. Following it.
Heat exploded through his right side. Not burning—opening. Like a door long stuck suddenly swinging free.
"Don't stop. Keep going."
"Yes, Captain!"