Three weeks.
Duke marked it quietly in his mind.
Three weeks since purchasing the manual.Three weeks of disciplined breathing.Three weeks of controlled intake and structured exertion.
His routine had become precise.
Production during the day.Training after dusk.Reading before sleep.
The manual rested open beside him as he knelt on the floor, spine straight, shoulders relaxed.
"Inhale through the nose. Guide the sensation downward. Compress gently."
He followed the pattern exactly.
The first week had been clumsy. Aura slipped through his focus like water through fingers. Sensation flickered and dispersed.
By the second week, the violet core began responding more reliably. Warmth gathered in his lower abdomen when his breathing aligned correctly. It was faint but undeniable.
By the third—
It intensified.
He inhaled slowly.
A pulse answered.
The air felt denser around him, as if something subtle pressed inward.
He guided it downward.
Compressed.
For a brief moment, warmth extended into his thighs.
Then it dissipated.
He exhaled.
Not enough.
According to the manual, once internal circulation stabilized, aura would continue moving through the body even after exhalation. It would establish a loop — continuous, self-sustaining.
He had not reached that stage.
But the improvements were visible.
His shoulders had broadened noticeably compared to a month ago. The thinness that once defined him had filled slightly with muscle. His arms no longer trembled during long stirring sessions over the fire. His grip could support heavier loads without fatigue.
Cera had noticed first.
"You're standing straighter," she said one evening.
He did not respond immediately.
Then she added, "You look different."
"Healthier," Jocelyn said from the corner.
Evelyn watched him more carefully than either of them. She said nothing — but she no longer hovered as closely when he walked outside.
He was recovering.
He was growing.
But he was not breaking through.
He inhaled again.
The violet core pulsed sharply this time — brighter, more distinct.
The second core — blue — remained distant.
Silent.
He adjusted posture.
Aligned his spine more precisely as instructed.
Tongue placement.
Lower abdominal compression.
Inhale.
The warmth gathered again.
Stronger.
For a fleeting instant, he felt something close to connection — like two points almost aligning.
Then it collapsed.
Aura dispersed.
He exhaled slowly, controlling irritation.
Three weeks was not a short duration for disciplined effort.
According to the manual, those with sufficient affinity often sensed circulation patterns within days.
Those with moderate aptitude might require longer.
But complete stagnation beyond consistent warming indicated either low affinity—
—or structural abnormality.
He closed his eyes again.
He did not accept the first explanation.
He had studied chemical systems complex enough to destabilize entire markets. He understood feedback loops. He understood reaction thresholds.
If aura was energy woven into the environment—
Then affinity was simply compatibility between structure and energy type.
The violet core absorbed.
The blue did not.
That alone was irregular.
He inhaled more deeply this time.
The violet pulse responded sharply, almost eagerly.
The warmth spread further into his arms.
His forearms tingled faintly.
Good.
He attempted to guide it upward instead of downward.
The manual warned against deviation.
He ignored it.
The sensation spiked suddenly — not painful, but unstable.
It scattered abruptly.
His breath broke.
He opened his eyes immediately.
Too abrupt.
Too forceful.
He steadied himself.
The manual was written for ordinary structure.
He was not certain he possessed ordinary structure.
He flexed his fingers slowly.
They felt heavier than before.
Denser.
His appetite had increased noticeably over the past week. Meals that once satisfied him now felt insufficient. He compensated deliberately — more protein, more grain, more water.
Energy conversion required fuel.
During the day, the physical benefits were clear.
He could lift the largest pots alone now. When he carried sacks of grain home, he no longer paused midway.
Even his steps felt firmer against the earth.
But when he returned to training—
The wall remained.
He reopened the manual and reread the threshold description.
"When the practitioner draws aura successfully into the body and establishes continuous internal circulation, the body will feel sudden alignment. Warmth will spread evenly, and breath will synchronize without conscious control."
He had experienced warmth.
But not alignment.
Not synchronization.
He inhaled again.
Focused more carefully.
The violet core pulsed in response.
The blue remained inert.
A thought formed slowly.
What if the issue was not insufficient affinity—
But interference?
Two cores occupying space meant two potential absorption centers.
If aura entered one but not the other—
Could it be destabilizing internal balance before circulation stabilized?
He exhaled slowly.
Speculation without proof was dangerous.
But the pattern was consistent.
He continued practicing until sweat gathered along his brow.
Thirty cycles.
Forty.
By the end, the warmth in his limbs was stronger than ever before.
His muscles felt tight. Compressed.
But when he stopped—
The sensation faded.
No sustained loop.
No threshold.
He stood carefully.
The difference between him now and a month ago was undeniable.
But the difference between him and a trainee Warrior remained vast.
That gap irritated him more than hunger ever had.
Outside, night settled over the village.
Inside, Duke sat quietly, breathing slowing naturally.
He did not feel despair.
He felt resistance.
Resistance could be studied.
Walls could be mapped.
He would not rush it.
Three weeks had yielded improvement.
The fourth might reveal more.
And if the manual's path proved insufficient—
He would find another.
The violet core pulsed once more before settling.
The blue remained silent.
Duke opened his eyes.
Strength was increasing.
But the door had not opened.
Not yet.