The cramped sleeping quarters Idan Odogwu shared with Omari and Alem felt suffocating. They were confined to the quarter under the political censure imposed by Elder Aisha Kemet. The day was drawing to an end, and Idan sat in the fading golden light, the heavy reality of the looming Salt Flats mission weighing on his Moea (soul).
The trial had been a spiritual scalpel, exposing the core rot of his Ase stagnation. He was a Warrior—that was his Makoma. But he had sabotaged his potential by chasing the glory and leadership symbolized by the Spear of Charisma, a principle his Makoma simply did not contain the necessary talent for.
He picked up his training spear. It felt cheap, heavy, and deceitful.
"It's not you, Idan. It's what you want it to be," Omari said quietly from across the room, tending to Alem, who was pale but stable, the sapphire shawl artifact glowing faintly on his chest.
Omari continued, speaking with the clear, direct insight of a Cultivator attuned to life's organic truth: "Your potential is not limitless. It is precisely enough to actualize your destiny. You were built for the Bow and the Shield. One is the projection of force from a distance; the other is the acceptance of force up close. Together, they create the tactical center of the formation. You want to be the edge; you were made to be the foundation."
Idan stood up, his massive monstrous frame filling the small room. He looked at the new spear, then at the remnants of his battered Shield of Durability Aura construct he had not repaired, still faintly visible on his arm.
He had to accept the screaming truth: his entire Martial Arts skillset was built on leveraging his immense frame for defense and redirection (Wrestling) and for explosive, decisive short-range impact (Boxing). He was a fortress that hit back. The Spear demanded flowing, expansive elegance—it was a weapon of movement. The Shield was a weapon of immovability.
Accept your potential.
Idan walked to the center of the room, closed his eyes, and channeled the precious cosmic energy he had absorbed throughout the day. His Yellow Aura flared, but this time, he did not reach for the Spear's abstract principle. He reached for the essence of the Bow.
The Bow was projection. Force applied at a distance.
He opened his hands and focused his Ase. He was not trying to summon a physical bow; he was trying to manifest an Active Weapon Art.
A stutter. The Ase balked. His Dapabie resisted the conceptual shift.
"You need to feel the release," Omari coached, without looking up. "Not the tension, but the moment you let go of the arrow. That moment is pure, focused intent. It is the end of the choice."
Idan refocused. The moment of letting go. The moment of complete commitment to a single trajectory.
He felt the Ase coalesce—a sharp, almost painful contraction in his core. Then, a sudden, blinding flash of Yellow Aura. In his palm, a perfect, condensed construct materialized: a Yellow Aura Arrow, sharp and humming with latent force.
He had done it. He had manifested the Arrow active art, the true focus of the Bow path. The moment of acceptance shattered his Ase stagnation. His reserves, previously choked by contradiction, flowed freely, rushing to fill the void.
With the Ase flowing freely, Idan immediately understood the synergy. The Arrow was projection; the Shield was defense; and his Martial Arts—the Boxing and Wrestling—were the devastating close-quarters counter-strike. His Makoma was not the single-minded glory of the spear, but the complete, multi-range defensive architecture of the tactical anchor.
He needed a name for this new, cohesive fighting style—a martial discipline that merged his Warrior's body, his true Weapon Arts, and his innate training.
The Shield is my foundation. The Arrow is my reach. The blow is my response.
"I call it Anchor Style," Idan declared, the Yellow Aura Arrow dissolving back into his hand. "I am the point on which the battle turns."
He looked at the floor, where his training spear lay. He did not touch it. The internal war was over. He was a Shield-Bearer, Archer, and Boxer, all in one devastating Mass Monster package.
This realization was timely. The Salt Flats, a region thick with Iku and cursed life, would demand both defense and devastating ranged force. He had unlocked the potential necessary for the grim future awaiting them.
Omari smiled. "Good. Now the three of us are ready to face Kemet's curse. Tomorrow, we go find the source of the Iku."