“Don’t dwell on it, lad. You’ll come into your position, just as one dons a fresh set of clothes. Just give it time. Though, er, perhaps clean yourself up?”
Vir looked down and noticed the purple liquid that stained his clothing. The same liquid that covered half his face.
Flushing in embarrassment, he turned away, furiously wiping away the juices.
“S-sorry. This is… this might just be the best fruit I’ve ever had.”
“Good!” Cirayus laughed. “We’ll be living on it. That, and the vegetables that grow here,” he said, chomping into something that looked like an oversized onion.
“You’re… not going to cook that?” Vir asked, dreading the answer.
“Cook? You see firewood nearby, lad?”
Sure enough, surrounding them was a sea of endless ash, broken by the occasional blackened shrub that poked through.
“Is it like this everywhere? Are there no trees in the Ash?”
“There are forests, yes, with trees the likes of which you’ve never seen. Rare, though. Be glad there’s any vegetation here, lad. Many places are true deserts, lacking even a bite to eat.”
Whatever enthusiasm Vir had before disappeared upon the realization that most of their meals would be consumed raw from now on.
Resigning himself to his fate, he bit into the onion… and winced. It wasn’t just big; the taste was also far stronger than any regular onion.
Dear Maiya, please help. Your poor friend’s been condemned to eat raw onions…
His prayers went unanswered. Thankfully, Cirayus didn’t allow him to linger on his woe for long. The moment he’d finished, the giant stood up, gesturing for Vir to do the same.
Vir’s heart pounded in his chest. What’s he going to show me now?
Nothing, it seemed.
“Throw a punch.”
“Just a regular punch?” Vir asked.
“Aye. Humor me. But use your best form and hold your stance once you’re finished.”
Oh, he did mention that. During their fight, Cirayus had called out his ‘sloppy’ form. Having practiced diligently, the giant’s comment came as a surprise to him.
Vir made a fist and fell into the stance, throwing the cleanest punch he knew, keeping his arm extended as instructed.
“Again,” Cirayus commanded, walking around him with the eyes of an Acira.
Once more, Vir threw his best straight punch, but Cirayus grasped his shoulders. “Rotate more. Step less. You’re overstepping to make up for your shorter reach. Rotating your shoulders will add power to your strike. Again.”
Vir did as he was told, rotating his shoulders a tad farther and reducing his forward motion.
The difference was slight but noticeable. He could feel the extra power in the attack, and his subsequent punches all felt stronger as well.
“T-thanks,” Vir said, ashamed he hadn’t discovered it himself. It was such a simple thing.
“Habit. Once you learn a form and ingrain it into your muscles, change becomes difficult. We fall into our routine, thinking we’ve perfected our technique, though the reality is that our form is always shifting, like the Ash. If unchecked, once-perfected movements will deviate over time, drifting away from the ideal. Revisit your foundations periodically, and correct any mistakes as they develop. Bad habits are difficult to unlearn.”
“I will,” Vir replied. He meant it, though he couldn’t understand why Cirayus chose this moment to coach him on the minutiae of his technique.
“Your chakra is only as strong as your foundation, young Ekavir. Sloppy form pollutes the spirit. Watch.”
Cirayus adopted a striking stance and threw a punch, nearly identical to Vir’s own. The giant’s stature and four-armed physiology meant his punches would never be quite the same, but it was as close to Vir’s own technique as the giant could manage. Just refined. Perfected to the absolute limit.
The punch was faster and slightly more polished but was otherwise much the same.
Then he threw another, and Vir’s soul shuddered.
The punch had been identical to the previous one. Was it a fluke of some sort? Vir couldn’t understand.
Cirayus threw another, and Vir fell to his knees, despite not even having been the target. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest, and he heaved for air.
“What… was that?”
“What did you feel?” the giant asked.
“It was… like you’d activated Balancer of Scales. Those punches had a weight to them. They felt heavy, like a punch to my gut. Is that another Bloodline tattoo of yours?”
“Not a tattoo. A chakra. Three, to be specific. The Warrior Chakra, harmonized with the Foundation and the Crown.”
“What does that mean?” Vir had analyzed Cirayus’ movements with both his regular sight and Prana Vision, having found nothing different from the mundane punch. To all his senses, they were identical.
“Centers of metaphysical energy. From the base of your spine to the top of your head sit the seven major chakras. One hundred forty-four chakra points in sum, running throughout your body.”
Vir frowned. “I’ve lost count of how many hours I’ve spent meditating, looking within myself. Prana Vision has never shown me anything like that.”
“And why would it? Your prana sight shows you only the physical, not the spiritual. Chakras have no presence or bearing in our reality. They exist purely as part of our spirit. Our being. All life possesses chakra, though, for most of us, these points remain firmly shut. Dormant. By opening the various chakras and harmonizing them, one begins to grasp the true workings of the world, gaining access to powers mere magic couldn’t hope to mimic. The power of the spirit.”
“I’ve… never heard of anything like this, Cirayus. Not once.”
“Aye, it seems humans are blissfully unaware of its existence. For demons, our chakra training begins as early as we can talk. Most of us spend our entire lives mastering our chakras.”
“How many have you opened?” Vir asked, half-guessing the answer.
“All, of course. Only took me a century and a half, too.”
“Only?”
“Lad, there are those my age who’ve failed to open even five. The Crown Chakra is especially troublesome.”
“And how exactly do you unlock these chakras? Actually, what are the different chakras? I’ve never known about them, and it’s not like I ever felt anything off.”
Even as Vir asked these questions, his mind raced to find answers. Theories blossomed in his head—for so long, prana had felt so mysterious. He could never explain why it worked the way it did. Was this the missing link? The fabric that underpinned those mysteries?
“Nor would you. A demon can live a perfectly healthy life without opening a single one. The purpose of opening chakras is not to improve one’s capacity in the ordinary domains of life, but to go beyond our mortal shell, seeking that which lies beyond. The metaphysical. The spiritual. The immortal.”
“If they don’t affect the world, what can they do?”
Whatever Cirayus did earlier felt impressive, but what did it actually do?
“The first of the chakras is the Root, or Foundation Chakra—responsible for grounding you and resisting metaphysical attacks that target your mind. Those who have yet to master the Foundation Chakra will find their minds torn apart by enemies well-versed in the Life Chakra. Most demons will have mastered opening this chakra by the time they reach their early teens.”