After a while, the young man once again found himself in the clearing by the small pond. He had intended to continue on to the Road, and from there decide where he wanted to go. But as he walked, he finally got a grasp on this whole cultivation nonsense. Now that he understood it just a little better, he decided there was plenty of time to go meet his so-called fellow humans. Since he had food, water from the pond, a few fruit trees he had found, and fishing, he figured he should stay in a relatively safe area and actually learn this cultivation crap.
He had thought about staying up on the hill mountain, whatever it was. It would be safer, sure, but that also meant more time spent climbing down to get water and climbing back up. He didn't know yet if he could store water in the storage space without a container. That was definitely something he should figure out, along with what he could move in and out. Could he scoop up the whole pond? Would the fish still be alive? Would they flop around and die the moment he shifted them out? Too much.
So he sat down, did the whole meditation thing. This time, it actually worked, which came as a shock. If his wives could see him now, he thought. They'd always tried to get him into the whole woo-woo fuzzy crap: yoga, meditation, chanting. Not that he had anything against it, he just… wasn't that person. He had been grounded in real things, not fuzzy crystal-hugging nonsense.
Although now, admittedly, he might have to change his way of thinking.
He smiled at the memory. It hurt, but it still felt good.
Slowly, he cleared his thoughts, sinking deeper into meditation. Letting the sounds, the texture of the world fade until there was only quiet. Only himself. Once he reached that state, he pressed the jade slip to his head and took in the cultivation technique as a whole.
At first, he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at. But thanks to his long life and varied experiences, as well as the remaining thread of qi left behind by the not-quite-human woman—he really should have asked their names—he began to understand.
His cultivation technique was called The Path of the Spirit Forge.
Now, he didn't know exactly what a "spirit forge" was. He knew what a forge was. Anyone growing up in his era would. Books, shows, documentaries, competitions. Spirit? That was the fuzzy woo-woo part he had ignored his whole life. But books, cartoons, and movies had given him at least a workable understanding.
So at first, he was worried he had to forge an actual spirit into something. A skill he very much did not have.
But as he read further, he realized it was more of a concept. He was supposed to draw inspiration from the wisdom and traits of creatures, merging them with elemental or higher concepts. He wasn't even sure if this was a good technique, but it was definitely his. Apparently, it was the only one he could use.
During his meditation he had looked inward, like the technique instructed. He eventually found this dantian thing. His didn't look like what others described. He had the hollow space where qi was supposed to gather, but his wasn't empty. His had a cracked, dry-looking anvil in it.
He assumed that was either the heavens' fault… or more likely the fault of that feathered menace.
Thinking of the bird almost kicked him out of meditation, so he calmed himself again and kept reading.
The path was split into five major realms, each with ten ranks, making fifty steps total. He was currently realm zero, rank zero. Once he actually started, he'd be realm one, rank one. Ranks one through ten, then a breakthrough into the next realm, repeating all the way to realm five.
Failing a breakthrough in the early realms wouldn't be too damaging. Failing one in the later realms could cripple him. So he needed a solid foundation. He still wasn't sure what "foundation" meant in this context. Probably "practice everything until it's perfect."
So he sat there, contemplating all this, wondering what creature he should choose.
He was from the modern era. Sure, he had gone hunting with his father, he knew basic animal behavior, but not in the way the technique seemed to want. Then he remembered myths and legends from his old world.
Native Americans had the Thunderbird. A giant storm bird. He could start with a bird, add thunder, lightning, whatever the myth represented.
Was this him building his own myth and drawing power from it?
That didn't seem right… except it also seemed very right.
There were a lot of myths he could emulate. He could even make his own. He loved monster movies. Loved the idea of titanic creatures striding across landscapes, forces of nature given form.
He paused.
Kaiju.
A wicked smile slowly spread across his face.
Mess with me, will you? he thought, glaring at one of the feathers. Yeah. Two could play at that game.
No, he told himself, he couldn't pick the big green guy from his childhood movies. Turning himself into a walking natural disaster was funny in theory, but a terrible idea in practice. Still, the idea of creating his own mythic beast—one unique to him—stirred something deep inside.
He laughed. "This could work."
The Corvid beat his wings hard, dodging between towering ancient trunks in the inner regions of the Great Green. The roar behind him shook branches loose. His once milky eye was now whole again… though not quite his. It had a reptilian slant to it.
Which made sense, considering the furious Flood Dragon chasing him had one eye blazing and the other missing.
The Corvid dove, skimmed past a moss-covered boulder, and cackled through singed feathers. "Heh! Worth it!"
A shudder rolled through him. Someone was thinking about him. Hard.
The meathead.
The newly restored half-god, half-idiot meathead.
The Corvid tried to focus on whatever the young man was plotting, but another blast of wind forced him down as the Flood Dragon snapped its jaws only feet above him. He dove into the canopy again, laughing like a lunatic as branches whipped past.
Eh. Maybe I was a little too hard on the guy, he thought.
He perched on a branch for all of three seconds before the dragon's roar shook the leaves.
"But really," he muttered, preening the edge of a half-burnt feather, "what's the worst he can do to me? I'm nearly phenomenal. Semi-cosmic. Mostly divine. Kind of."
A beat.
"…Right?"
Another roar. The dragon crashed through the canopy.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. All I did was take his eye!"
He launched himself skyward again, screaming laughter echoing through the Great Green as the Flood Dragon barreled after him.