"I think that went about as well as it could have," Fal mused.
"I am somewhat… disappointed that your concern wasn't misplaced," Silva replied almost somberly.
Fal's humor damped hearing the ache in Silva's tone, "The stress of the war and your father's absence has made them rather ornery, however this is not the time for lamentation. You are at a crucial point in your development and we must strike while the iron is hot."
"You mean to teach me Qi manipulation," Silva guessed, only for Fal to scoff, "Teaching you to manipulate Qi would be as pointless as teaching a fish to swim."
Silva lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, "Then if my manipulation is at an acceptable level, the next step would be to learn a technique,"
"Indeed it is," Fal answered with a nod, "The utilization of Qi in a specific manner and or patter to produce a constant reaction or result, refining the raw input of energy into a more powerful and precise expression. Otherwise known as a Technique, the cornerstones of a cultivator's repertoire."
Silva's face was impassive but his heart couldn't help but thrum in excitement. Techniques were far more than flashy displays of Qi, they were representations of legacies spanning potentially thousands of years. Remnants left behind by those who pursued the heavens only to fall short with a burning desire to leave behind something that would outlast them and perhaps one day live on in an inheritor that would ascend further.
Those techniques would often be left behind in the form of scrolls holding detailed instructions for those seeking to learn, making them incredibly valuable manuscripts that clans and factions hoarded and protected like priceless treasures.
It wouldn't be a stretch to say that techniques were the foundation of a clan, with generation after generation continuing to hone, refine, and evolve a number of techniques into a complete inheritance, leaving behind a path for their descendants to ascend upon.
"Are you going to take me to the Main Training Hall? I heard that's where all the clan's techniques are stored." Silva prompted seeing that his uncle was being purposefully vague.
Fal nodded his head slowly, "That is true, but I will not take you there. I doubt that any of the techniques within the clan's archive will serve you well."
"Then perhaps a technique from your own personal hoard," Silva asked, making Fal click his tongue in disapproval, "Hmm, wrong again."
"Surely you would have something worthwhile that you managed to collect over your many years," Silva insisted while insulting his uncle.
Fal scoffed and crossed his arms, "Bold of you to beg me for handouts after I've burned a small fortune's worth of essence stones on your progression. If I were to insist that you pay back your debt your would be destitute for centuries!"
"Then you surely aren't suggesting that I make my own Technique?" Silva questioned, even though he already knew that was precisely what Fal expected of him, "I've only taken my first steps in the Second Realm; I don't have the insight needed to shape Qi in such a manner."
"No, but you're a rather intuitive learner, Little Vine. Practical application will serve you best, not studying some old dusty scroll." Fal continued to lecture, "Besides, I believe you already have a solid foundation for creating a technique solely suited for you."
"My shroud," Silva inferred, "You believe I can turn the simplest application of Qi into something worthy of being called a technique."
Fal grinned, "Don't act so modest, nephew, you know where you stand."
Silva fell silent, seeing that the banter was pointless. Fal was correct in his assessment; creating a technique that took advantage of Silva's unique advantage would have profound benefits, one that would carry him much further than settling for a short-term solution.
With the lull in conversation, Silva and Fal walked silently through the halls of the Family Compound, which was a rather strange experience for Silva. It was his first time in a new environment, where he didn't know every last detail like the back of his hand. His eyes never stayed still for more than a moment, in a constant state of observation.
Despite the novelty and expert craftsmanship that had gone into creating the compound, Silva couldn't help but feel constrained. His century of unsatisfied wanderlust wasn't going ot be sated by exploring a different building, no matter its quality. But then Silva's feeling of discontent was suddenly interrupted as he felt a slight pull.
No less than a pull, more like a shift in the air, one that inevitably caught Silva's attention as he paused midstride.
"What is it?" Fal asked as he glanced at his nephew, who was suddenly enraptured d by something only his eyes could see.
"I am not entirely sure," Silva replied even as he turned and started walking down a separate hallway, "But I believe it is worth investigating."
Fal sighed but said nothing as he turned to follow his nephew, having already been more than accustomed to Silva's impromptu moments of insight.
Honing in on the source of the pull, Silva realized that he was moving towards the very center of the main hall, and after passing through an outer walkway, found himself looking out over a rather large courtyard. At least by Silva's standards.
Compared to the overall size of the compound that housed close to a thousand staff, a hundred guards, and Silva's entire family, the courtyard was nothing but a small speck and easily overlooked, judging by the state of it.
"This is what caught your interest?" Fal asked as he stepped up beside Silva and stared out at the courtyard that had been taken over by brambles, "How did you know this was here? I don't even have any memory of this place."
"Something called to me," Silva muttered as a way of explanation, as he kicked off his shoes before stepping onto the earth.
"I don't sense anything," Fal muttered as he swept his spirituality over the courtyard, only to find it just as mundane as its appearance, "But if you believe that there is something worthwhile, who am I to say otherwise?"
"I don't think that it's something that brought me here," Silva corrected as he walked through the courtyard, "There is nothing special about this place, but that is precisely what makes it noteworthy."
Fal then watched as Silva withdrew a small scythe from his storage ring and took up a stance, "Do you feel that this is the best use of your time with war on the horizon?"
"I do not know what is best; however, I do feel the need to root myself," Silva answered calmly as he pulled with the scythe before sweeping it across the ground in a graceful arc, clearing a section of the thorny bramble and exposing the hard-packed dirt beneath.
Fal's first instinct was to persuade Silva to focus on more worthwhile efforts before he forcefully stilled his tongue and let his impulses fade, "Very well then, I'll leave you to your efforts. When you're ready to retire, find one of the attendants and have them escort you to my residence."
"I believe I'll be here for quite some time, but very well," Silva replied somewhat curtly as his attention was drawn further and further away from the conversation.
With a final gaze at his nephew, Fal turned and walked away, folding his hands behind his back and leaving Silva to follow his instincts.
---
For a brief period of time, Silva returned to his origins, a simple gardener, a caretaker looking to nourish and balance the small fragment of nature he cultivated. The last four years had forced him to step far beyond what he once was and become far more. But Silva knew that he could never forget his roots, the years he had spent as a mortal. Silva journey of ascension was not one to be judged by how strong he became, but by how far he had become. Which was only possible if Silva found ways to remind himself of his origins and the neglected courtyard was exactly that.
However, even with a task as simple as gardening, so much had changed. Silva was looking at the world through a different set of eyes, ones that were infinitely more perceptive than those of a mortal.
As he steadily cleared away the thorny bramble, Silva exposed the dead and withered husks of the various ornamental plants that had once occupied the courtyard.
Before the bramble, each plant had occupied its respective niche, perfectly in tune with the resources provided. The thorny vines, however, did not respect such an edict. Instead, it arrived like a plague, incubating within the ground and spreading its roots far and wide, voraciously consuming anything that could fuel its growth. And grow it did. It spread its reach far, clawing across the ground and using its rapid expansion to smother any competition, depriving it of light and nutrients. Even worse, those who died became fuel for the bramble as their death released the little sustenance left behind in their stems and leaves.
Through its rapid growth, its pursuit of life, the bramble had become a harbinger of death.