~The Month the Body Began to Listen~
Time passed in silence.
Not the kind that brings peace, but the kind that erodes.
The winter sun rose and fell twenty-eight times over the Rosenfeld training grounds. Each dawn saw a solitary figure step upon frost-laden earth, and each dusk left behind fresh marks of blood on snow that no one dared ask about.
Kel von Rosenfeld walked this path without witness.
No acknowledgement.
No comfort.
Only continuity.
Every morning before sunrise, he left his chamber without summoning servants. Wrapped in a deep charcoal coat, hair bound tight, eyes hollow from lack of sleep—he crossed the grounds like a shadow.
He trained.
Pain became process.
Collapse became checkpoint.
If breath was jagged, he repeated the cycle until it wasn't.
If his body screamed to halt, he pushed until silence followed.
He learned where the curse resisted most—along his diaphragm, spine, and right wrist. So he pushed breath through those points, performing slow, deliberate stance work that made his muscles tremble.
By the seventh day, he was coughing blood.
By the fourteenth, he stopped coughing blood only because his throat had adapted to swallow it instead.
By the twenty-first, the training ground recognized his footsteps by the depth of imprint on the frost.
By the thirtieth… the wind moved around him as if something in him had changed.
Cold.
Pre-light.
The manor slept behind veils of mist.
Kel stood at the center of the training ground, wearing a fitted black practice uniform beneath an open long coat of midnight blue. The coat drifted slightly in the wind, whispering against his legs.
He closed his eyes.
Arms poised in pre-stance.
His breath steadied.
Inhale—
steady, deep, weighted.
Exhale—
slow, layered with strain.
His posture was no longer that of a frail boy pretending.
It was the posture of someone who had suffered until shape became structure.
It is time.
He raised his arms.
Right palm forward.
Left hand along his core.
He began the breathing technique taught by the ancient manual Essence of Breath.
But this time… subtle difference.
His intent shifted inward.
On the twelfth breath cycle, something stirred.
Not mana.
Not physical feedback.
Something thinner than presence.
Barely distinguishable.
A faint shimmer beneath his skin.
Kel's eyes opened silently.
There was no shock.
Only quiet confirmation.
I can feel it.
He held that breath.
Did not exhale.
The morning air thinned around him.
In that moment, he sat, crossing his legs upon the cold ground. Frost melted under his body heat. His hands rested upon his knees.
With utmost care—every movement precise—he redirected his awareness inward.
Gather.
This was a taboo attempt.
The manuals warned against condensing aura without first stabilizing channels.
He ignored them.
The world demands obedience.
I demand effect.
He drew the faint aura-like sensation toward his root.
He visualized the position—lower abdomen, just below the navel.
Energy resisted.
He pushed.
Pain spiked through his lower spine.
His eye twitched.
His breathing halted momentarily.
He endured.
Again, he directed.
Gather.
The sensation flickered—weak, fading.
His chest tightened.
Breath wanted to collapse.
If it slips… there won't be another chance.
He pressed one palm against the frozen earth.
His hand bled where the stone cut skin.
Good.
Pain gave clarity.
Condense.
Agony spread through his abdomen like hot iron.
His breathing shattered.
He didn't stop.
He forced the sensation tighter.
Condense.
The curse reacted sharply—like a chain pulling.
He grimaced, shoulders straining.
His fingertips dug into frost.
"Ng—kh…"
Blood seeped between his lips again.
But his eyes remained open.
Even as his vision blurred.
Even as veins stood out across his neck.
Even as his body trembled—
Not backwards.
Forward.
He clenched his jaw.
Now.
His core tightened.
Something clicked.
Inside him—
A tiny sphere of dim red light ignited.
No larger than a grain of sand.
But pulsing.
Once.
Twice.
With each pulse, it sent a faint ripple through his body. Not energy.
Liberation.
Kel inhaled sharply.
Then exhaled with control.
The pain sank.
The trembling subsided.
His spine straightened.
His fingers loosened from the ground.
He opened his eyes.
Snowflakes fell again—but this time, they altered course near him, drifting gently aside as if diverted by something unseen.
He looked at his hand.
Steady.
Then placed that hand softly against his abdomen.
Root chakra.
Condensation successful.
He closed his eyes and observed the change.
The red sphere pulsed every second.
Each time, muscle tension fell.
Each time, warmth radiated from the core.
Each time, strength gathered faster than over the entire month.
"…Better."
No smile.
Only fact.
His next exhale came with less frost.
His next inhale came deeper.
He raised his gaze toward the training weapons.
It begins.
The world felt… quieter.
Kel sat cross-legged on the frost-bitten training ground, breath steadying, steam rising faintly from his lips and shoulders. Beneath his palm, resting lightly over his lower abdomen, he could feel it.
That tiny, dim red sphere.
Not imagined.
Not theory.
Real.
Its pulse was faint but regular—like the heartbeat of something newly born, fragile yet defiant.
Resonance…
He closed his eyes.
The cold seeped through his clothes. The thin black training tunic he wore clung to his frame, chilled through by the stone beneath him. But inside—where the faint red orb hovered at his root chakra—there was a slow-growing warmth.
This is not mana. Not full aura either…
It's the beginning.
He drew in a breath.
The sphere pulsed.
Once.
A faint wave spread outward.
He exhaled.
The wave returned to center.
It's responding directly to my breathing.
His lips parted slightly.
Not in a smile.
In recognition.
Internal aura resonance confirmed.
Then it struck.
Without warning.
Pain exploded through his core—violent, jagged, as if dozens of rusted hooks had sunk into his flesh and spine all at once. His back bowed involuntarily. His fingers dug into the ground, nails scraping ice and stone.
"—kh…!"
His breath was stolen.
The red sphere flickered wildly.
The curse, which had always been a dull, constant ache, now surged like a storm. It crashed against the new aura cluster, trying to crush, drown, extinguish it.
Kel's teeth ground together.
His shoulders tensed, veins standing out along his neck and temples.
So you finally noticed, didn't you…
His vision blurred with red at the edges.
The curse constricted around the root chakra, sending searing lines of agony up his spine and into his ribs. His limbs trembled violently.
For a moment, his body felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside.
You don't want me to grow.
His fingers clawed deeper into the frozen ground, skin splitting, blood seeping into snow.
You were meant to keep me weak.
His breathing shattered into fragments.
No clear inhale.
No stable exhale.
Only desperate survival.
But at the center of that chaos—
The tiny red sphere pulsed again.
Not weaker.
Stronger.
Once.
Then again.
Like a stubborn ember refusing to be smothered by a hurricane.
Kel forced himself to focus.
The curse is pressure.
This little sphere… is resistance.
His mind sharpened through pain.
If I panic, the curse wins. If I despair, it consumes.
If I hold—
The pain intensified, whipping through his nerves like molten wire.
His back arched.
For a moment, his hand left his abdomen.
The sphere quivered.
He slammed his palm back down, fingers splayed.
"In…"
The word was barely a breath.
He inhaled.
The curse roared.
"Out…"
He exhaled.
The sphere pulsed.
Timing aligned.
Synchronize pain with breath.
He inhaled again.
The curse surged like a tidal wave.
He exhaled.
The red orb pulsed through it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
The curse's violent storm… began to waver.
The pain did not vanish.
But it withdrew.
From a roar down to a growl.
From a blade to a barbed chain.
Still there.
Still cruel.
But no longer wild.
Kel slumped forward, catching himself on one hand. Sweat dripped from his chin, splashing into the snow that had started to melt around his seated form.
His breath came ragged at first.
Then steadier.
His fingers trembled.
Then stilled.
The red sphere calmed.
Its glow dimmed slightly…
…but its presence remained.
You lost, he told the curse in silence.
This time, you lost.
Kel slowly uncurled his posture.
He lifted his head.
The world seemed sharper.
He stared at his own hand, palm open, fingers slightly curled.
The skin was still pale—but less sickly. There was a faint, almost imperceptible color under the surface, as if blood finally moved with purpose.
He flexed his fingers.
The motion felt cleaner.
Less resistance.
He rolled his shoulders—first the left, then the right.
The pain was still there.
But it no longer dominated.
My body… feels lighter.
He got to his feet.
Slowly, deliberately.
A month ago, standing up after training felt like dragging a corpse from the earth.
Now—
He simply stood.
His legs were steady beneath him. His balance, once plagued by constant weakness, felt aligned. He spread his weight slightly, testing.
No sudden spasms.
No threatening collapse.
His brows lowered in mild surprise.
The difference… from one small aura core?
He took a tentative step forward.
Then another.
No tremor.
The wind brushed past his face, carrying with it the scent of ice and faint steel. His hair drifted lightly, tied back but still loose at the ends, whipping around the line of his jaw.
He turned his neck side to side.
Less stiffness.
He rolled his wrist.
Less strain.
My nerves respond faster. My muscles feel as though someone untied knots from within.
His eyes narrowed.
So this is the rate of growth when I stop being merely cursed… and start being condensed.
Kel walked to the weapons rack.
The simple wooden sword he had used for the past month lay where he had left it earlier. He picked it up.
Last month, the sword had felt too heavy after each session. A burden.
Now—
It felt… right.
He weighed it in his hand, fingers adjusting around the handle as though greeting something familiar.
His feet slid naturally into stance.
The frost crunched beneath the ball of his front foot.
He inhaled.
Aura sphere pulsed—pahmp.
He exhaled.
And swung.
The air parted with a sharper sound than before, the blade cutting in a cleaner arc. His shoulders stayed aligned, his hips turned smoothly. No jerky resistance from his lower back.
His eyes widened—just slightly.
He reset.
Swung again.
This time, he allowed himself to watch the follow-through.
The path of the sword was straighter, less wavering. His body recovered faster from the motion, feet remaining firmly planted.
My output rose by this much… from a sphere the size of a grain of sand.
He inhaled once more.
He moved into a short sequence.
Diagonal slash.
Step.
Turn.
Guard.
Reverse cut.
Each motion called pain—but the pain no longer dictated the limit. It was present like an echo, not a wall.
He stopped after a dozen strikes.
His breath was heavier.
But he was not collapsing.
His ribs burned.
But they did not lock.
His body was tired—
not broken.
He lowered the sword.
"…If this is what I can do with a spark…"
He raised his gaze toward the pale winter sky above.
"…what will I become with a flame?"
The cold wind swept past his face as if attempting to answer.
It failed.
The answer was not in the air.
It was in him.
🔻 The Decision — Root Expansion
He sheathed the wooden blade back into its rack.
His fingers lingered on it for a heartbeat, then left it behind.
Physical training would continue.
But today marked a shift.
He walked back to the center of the training ground.
Snow crunched under his boots. His black clothes now carried damp patches from where frost had melted under prolonged contact with his heat. His breath no longer streamed as heavily; the aura sphere at his root chakra pulsed faintly, sharing the burden of circulation.
Kel sat again.
Cross-legged.
Back straight.
Hands resting loosely upon his knees.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed in.
Breathed out.
The new presence within him responded.
Condensed aura at the root… accelerating physical reinforcement.
He let his mind organize itself.
Next step is clear.
He didn't need a manual for this.
He simply needed logic.
If a single small core already creates this difference… then increasing its density and stability will multiply the effect.
He focused entirely on the sphere.
Dim red.
Warm.
Pulsing with his breath.
I will expand you.
But not by spreading you.
By deepening you.
The stars bestowed paths of expansion outward into the sky.
He would expand inward, into the depths of self.
He inhaled.
And gently guided more of the faint, weak aura residue—barely perceptible—toward the root.
The curse curled like a wary beast around him.
No sudden rage this time.
Only cautious hostility.
You're learning too, Kel thought, without malice. You're adapting to my presence.
Then keep watching.
He felt the sphere thicken slightly.
Not larger.
Denser.
The pulses grew marginally stronger.
Three years until Star Awakening Ceremony.
The world expects me to stand beneath the sky and beg for recognition.
His lips moved in a slow, quiet line.
"…I will stand before the sky with a foundation strong enough to reject it."
He drew in one more breath.
Held it.
The aura sphere flickered.
Then steadied.
"You will not own me," he said under his breath.
Not to the curse.
Not to the stars.
To the future.
He exhaled.
"And I will not ask for your permission."
He opened his eyes.
They were still the same color.
But something behind them had changed.
Root chakra condensed.
Body strengthened.
Direction chosen.
The training ground—silent witness to his suffering for the past month—would now witness something else.
Growth.
Slow.
Merciless.
Unstoppable.
Kel rose from the ground.
And with that simple act…
The month of breaking ended.
And the era of building truly began.