Chapter 6
Breath of the Wild
The pre-dawn chill of the castle courtyard seeped through Renly's thin tunic, but the cold was a distant concern for Kaelen. His entire focus was on the man standing before him: Ser Joric. The master-at-arms circled him slowly, his gaze as sharp and assessing as a falcon's.
"The boar showed you have a spine," Joric grunted, coming to a stop. "But a spine isn't enough. You need a current to run through it. You move like you're fighting your own body, boy. All thought, no instinct."
Kaelen felt a flicker of alarm. Was his dual consciousness that obvious? He kept Renly's face carefully neutral. "I try to follow the drills, Ser."
"Drills are for monkeys. A Knight, a true warrior, doesn't follow. Heflows." Joric gestured for Kaelen to sit on the cold stone steps. "You're strong for your age, but your vital force is… scattered. Like smoke. You need to condense it. Make it a tool."
He lowered himself to sit opposite Kaelen, his movements economical and powerful. "What I will teach you is not of this keep. I learned it from a Wandering Blademaster from the eastern steppes, a man who fought with the grace of a wind-dancer. He called it the Breath of the Wild."
Kaelen's interest, both his and Renly's, was immediately piqued. This was it. The path to systematic power.
"The Wild is not just the forest or the beast," Joric began, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, instructional tone. "It is the untamed life in everything. The wind that carves mountains, the river that grinds stone, the fire that consumes and renews. This technique does not seek to conquer the wild, but to emulate it. To let its essence flow through you."
He instructed Kaelen to close his eyes. "Forget your body. Forget this courtyard. Listen. Smell. Feel."
Kaelen did as he was told. He heard the distant call of a hawk, the rustle of a mouse in the stables, the sigh of the wind through the battlements. He smelled the damp stone, the distant pine from the forest, the earthy scent of turned soil from the gardens.
"Good," Joric murmured. "Now, breathe. But not like a man. Breathe like the tide. In through your nose, let the air fill you like a valley gathering mist. Hold it… feel the life in it. Then, release it through your mouth, slow and controlled, like a wolf's warm breath on a cold night. Push that energy down, not out. Push it to your core, below your navel. Imagine it condensing there, a swirling pool of potential."
The first hour was a study in frustration. Kaelen's modern, analytical mind was his greatest enemy. He overthought the breathing. He tried to visualize the energy as data streams, as Aetheric particles. It felt forced, artificial. He was trying to program his vital force, not cultivate it.
"Stop fighting it," Joric's voice cut through his struggle, not unkindly. "You are not building a wall. You are planting a seed. You cannot command a seed to grow. You can only give it soil, water, and sun. Your body is the soil. Your breath is the water. Your will is the sun. Now, stop thinking and breathe."
Chastened, Kaelen let go. He stopped trying to control and started trying to feel. He focused on the sensory inputs—the sounds, the smells—and let his breathing fall into a rhythm with them. In with the hawk's cry, hold with the stable's rustle, out with the wind's sigh.
Slowly, something shifted.
A warmth began to kindle in his lower abdomen. It was faint at first, a mere suggestion of heat. But as he continued the rhythmic breathing, focusing his will not as a command but as a gentle, sustaining attention, the warmth grew. It wasn't the searing heat of a fever, but the deep, fertile warmth of sun-baked earth. It was a pool of energy, swirling slowly, alive with potential.
He felt Renly's body relax in a way it never had during physical drills. The residual aches from yesterday's training seemed to soften. His senses felt sharper; he could now distinguish the scent of dew on different types of moss growing between the courtyard stones.
"This is the foundation," Joric said, his voice pulling Kaelen gently from his trance. "This pool of energy is your wellspring. Every swing of a sword, every step you take, should draw from it. In battle, a Knight doesn't exhaust his muscles; he channels the wild energy from his core. This is what separates a warrior who gets tired from a Knight who endures."
Kaelen opened his eyes. The world seemed more vibrant, more real. He looked at his hands, half-expecting to see a glow.
"It will take time," Joric said, standing up. "Months, years, to build a deep enough well to awaken a Bloodline. But you have taken the first step. From now on, you will report to me here every dawn. We will breathe. Then we will move. The Breath of the Wild must be in your steps before it can be in your strikes."
As Kaelen rose, his body felt different. Lighter, yet more grounded. The technique was primitive compared to the Federation's targeted genetic therapies, but it was something he could do. It was active, not passive. He wasn't waiting for an injection or a sponsorship; he was building his power one breath at a time.
He had found his soil, his water, and his sun. And for the first time since the draft notice, Kaelen felt a genuine, unshakeable hope begin to grow.