That night, long after Clara's breathing had settled into the slow rhythm of exhausted sleep and Hannah had stopped shifting on her thin pallet, Jason slipped silently from the tent. The outer camp lay quiet under a thin moon. He moved like a shadow between the other dwellings until the last firelight fell behind him and the trees closed in.
*I don't think it's wise for you to leave at this hour,* the bracelet said inside his mind.
"What other time do I have?" Jason answered under his breath, not slowing. "They're asleep. No one will notice I'm gone until morning."
*You're still angry about what happened earlier. Don't let that anger drive you into something reckless.*
Jason's hands curled into fists at his sides. The bruises along his ribs and the dull throb in his face were vivid reminders. "You saw how powerless I was in front of them. If I had been even a little stronger, they wouldn't dare treat me like something to step on. I need that strength, and I need it now."
*Even so, I suggest you take it easy, kid. Burning yourself out tonight won't help tomorrow.*
Jason did not answer. He simply kept walking until he reached the familiar clearing with the scarred trees. There he sat cross-legged on the cool earth, closed his eyes, and pushed his consciousness toward the bracelet the way he had learned.
The transition was smoother this time. Darkness folded around him, then the training hall unfolded in pale light—weapon racks, springy floor, the stone tablet waiting. He placed the Phantom Kick manual on the tablet without hesitation. The luminous figure appeared at once and began the sequence again: energy flooding the legs in precise torrents, the stomping root, the blurring, gale-force kicks that seemed to multiply in the air. Jason watched with fierce concentration, committing every shift of weight and every pathway of light to memory, until the familiar pressure built behind his eyes and the bracelet pulled him out.
He returned to his body with a sharp inhale. The night air felt colder after the timeless space. He rose, shook out his limbs, and spent several minutes warming the muscles—slow punches, controlled kicks, deep breathing—until blood moved freely and the worst of the stiffness from Andrew's beating loosened.
Only then did he try to move spiritual energy into his legs the way the technique required.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, focusing harder, visualizing the blue light he had seen inside the figure. The energy stirred faintly in his dantian but refused to travel downward in any controlled stream. A third attempt. A fourth. Frustration mounted with each failure.
*For a beginner,* the bracelet offered, *start with the upper body. The pathways are shorter and easier to sense. Once you understand the flow, the legs will come more naturally.*
Jason exhaled, reset his stance, and turned his attention upward. He guided the thin threads of energy toward his chest, his shoulders, his arms. The first attempts still slipped and scattered. The second and third were little better. But on the fifth try he felt a distinct warmth rise along his sternum. By the tenth, he could push a thin stream into his right shoulder and hold it there for a few heartbeats before it dissipated. Progress was slow, measured in tiny increments, yet it was real.
He kept at it under the moonlight, losing track of time. The forest around him remained still except for the occasional night bird. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. At last he managed a steady circulation through the upper body—shoulders, arms, even a brief pulse into the neck—when the energy accidentally crested higher.
Sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his skull. His concentration shattered. The energy recoiled violently back to his dantian, leaving him gasping and pressing both hands to his head.
"What was that?" he asked once the worst of the pain faded.
*That is what happens when unrooted spiritual energy enters the head,* the bracelet explained. *At your stage the sea of consciousness is still fragile. Force energy there and you risk injury. Also note: because your energy has not yet fully stabilized after the recent breakthroughs, you can only mobilize it a couple of times before it is spent. Rest and recovery are required between serious uses.*
Jason checked inward and confirmed it. The reservoir that had felt decently full after the body-refining was now nearly empty from the repeated practice.
*Now try moving what little remains into your hand,* the bracelet instructed.
Jason focused with greater care. The last threads of energy answered more readily this time, sliding down his right arm and pooling in the fist. His hand felt heavier, denser, faintly warm. Power prickled under the skin.
*Punch the tree.*
He stepped up to the nearest trunk, set his feet, and drove his fist forward with a low, sharp shout. The impact was completely different from any previous punch. A clean, fist-sized hole punched through the outer bark and deep into the wood. Splinters exploded outward. The tree shuddered.
Jason's knees buckled from the sudden expenditure. He dropped to one knee, then sat fully, staring at the damage he had just caused. A breathless chuckle escaped him.
"That… that was something else. Just adding energy to the fist made that much difference."
*This is only the first step every true practitioner learns,* the bracelet said. *As your realm rises and your energy grows denser and more abundant, the same principle scales. One day a single strike might fell a hillside or split clouds. But that future requires both higher cultivation and proper techniques to shape the power.*
Jason's eyes lit with genuine wonder. "I could really reach that level?"
*If you survive long enough and refuse to stop, yes. First master control. Then master techniques that let you use that control efficiently.*
The excitement dimmed slightly as reality returned. "I don't have any other techniques. The Fox family doesn't hand them out to outsiders, and…" He hesitated, the old anger rising. "My own clan was destroyed overnight. My mother took my sister and me and ran for our lives. There was nothing left to inherit."
A brief silence filled the bond between them.
*I am sorry,* the bracelet said, quieter than usual. *I had assumed you were born to this territory.*
"It's all right." Jason managed a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "We've survived this far."
*Since formal scrolls are unavailable, you could use my training space to hone general combat instincts—footwork, timing, weapon familiarity. The weapons there respond to your will.*
Jason shook his head. "If I spend my limited time in the space on general sparring, I'll fall behind on the Phantom Kick. The tournament is in ten days. That technique is the one advantage I might actually control."
*Then we train the kick here in the real world,* the bracelet replied. *Now that you have begun to sense and move energy through the upper body, the transition to the legs will be faster. I can guide the circulation step by step while you practice the physical form. It will still take focused work, but it should not require endless nights.*
Jason looked down at the simple metal band on his wrist. The gratitude he felt was sharp and unexpected.
"Thank you. I don't know how far I would have gotten without you."
*You are my master,* the bracelet answered simply. *Supporting your growth is part of the bond. Besides—* a faint thread of dry humor returned—*your progress feeds me as well. We both benefit when you stop getting your face rearranged by privileged brats.*
Jason huffed a quiet laugh, then rose to his feet again. The night was still deep, the moon riding high. His energy was nearly spent, his body ached from the earlier beating and the new exertions, but the direction forward felt clearer than it had in a long time.
He settled back into stance, ready to begin the slow, deliberate work of teaching his spiritual energy to travel downward into his legs—one careful cycle at a time—while the bracelet's calm voice guided every movement of power inside him.