The sewer junction became Rhys's entire world. Days bled into nights, marked only by the faint shift in the ambient temperature filtering down from the city above and the subtle variations in the rhythmic dripping that echoed through the cavernous space. Their hidden alcove, cramped and perpetually damp, offered little comfort but relative security. Boulder, ever vigilant, established watch patterns, occasionally venturing out on silent, short-range scouting missions into the adjacent tunnels, reporting back on any signs of movement – mostly rats, mutated insects, and the distant, infrequent passage of what sounded like maintenance drones in the levels above.
Rhys, however, rarely moved from his cross-legged position near the alcove's edge, overlooking the gently glowing algae and the stones weeping clean Aether. The trauma of the near-capture, the weight of the Crimson Hand's hunt, and the impossible demands of Sera Bellweather had forged a cold, hard resolve within him. Running, reacting – it hadn't worked. It had led him deeper into peril. Now, he would build. He would temper. He would understand.
The Weaver Slate lay dormant on the datapad in his lap, the shard resting beside it. He resisted the urge to probe the slate directly, recalling the dangerous energy backlash and the drain it represented. Instead, he focused on the foundation: his own Aether Pool.
He began with the circulation technique depicted in the Weaver's Scrawl, the one Kaelen had indirectly validated by speaking of tempering will and energy. Closing his eyes, Rhys extended his Echo Sense, not outward into the tunnels, but inward, into the chaotic swirl of energy residing within his dantian. It felt like a murky pond, filled with indistinct currents and impurities gathered from his earlier, cruder absorption attempts.
Then, carefully, painstakingly, he began to draw upon the clean Aether radiating from the stones below. He didn't gulp it down as he had initially. Instead, he inhaled metaphorically, guiding a thin, pure stream of energy into his body. It felt cool, refreshing, almost startlingly different from the gritty, background Aether permeating most of Meridian's ruins. This energy felt… whole. Undamaged.
He directed this pure stream into the Aether Pool, not letting it simply merge, but using it as a tool. He visualized it as a fine, sharp current, carefully guided by his will, carving a path through the murk. The Scrawl's diagram showed a complex, looping pathway, connecting unseen nodes within the body. Rhys focused on tracing just the initial, simplest loop.
It was agonizingly slow work. His concentration constantly wavered. The slightest distraction – a distant clang, Boulder shifting his weight, a pang of hunger – could disrupt the delicate flow, causing the pure Aether to dissipate or, worse, stir up the impurities in his pool, resulting in sharp pains or waves of dizziness. Maintaining the mental focus required was as exhausting as any physical labor he'd ever performed.
Hours melted away. He'd practice until mental fatigue overwhelmed him, forcing him into a restless, shallow sleep, only to resume the moment he awoke, driven by a gnawing sense of urgency. Boulder ensured he ate rations and drank filtered water, silent reminders of the physical necessities Rhys often forgot in his obsessive focus.
Slowly, incrementally, he began to make progress. The circulation became smoother. The pathway, initially imagined, started to feel like a tangible channel within him. The pure Aether, guided along this path, seemed to act like a filter. He could feel tiny motes of dissonance – impurities – being dislodged from his pool, not expelled, but pushed aside, compressed, isolated into stagnant corners of the pool by the constant flow of the purer energy along the defined channel.
His Aether Pool didn't necessarily grow much larger during this period, but its quality began to change. The energy felt denser, more responsive to his will. When he drew upon it for his Echo Sense, the perception was clearer, less prone to static or misinterpretation. The range didn't increase dramatically, but the fidelity did. He could now distinguish subtler variations in the background Aether signatures of the junction, discerning the unique resonance of the dripping water, the glowing algae, the stone itself, and even the faint metallic tang of old pipes embedded deep within the walls.
One cycle, deep into his practice, as he guided the pure Aether stream along the now-familiar loop, he felt a subtle warmth emanate from the shard resting near the datapad. It wasn't active, not like when it absorbed chaotic energy, but it seemed to resonate with his refined Aether, amplifying the purification effect slightly, making the process marginally easier, the control marginally finer. It was a passive effect, but a noticeable one. The shard wasn't just a key or a shield; it was a tuning fork, aligning his internal energy.
He continued the process relentlessly. Tempering the Aether. Tempering his will. Forging discipline in the crucible of his own body and mind. He was still weak, still vulnerable, hiding in the bowels of the city. But for the first time since discovering Aetherium Weaving, he felt like he was truly building something solid, something foundational. He was laying the first stones of his own path, not just stumbling along one laid by accident and desperation.
As one long practice session concluded, leaving him drained but clear-headed, he extended his refined Echo Sense towards the Aether source below. He felt the familiar, clean hum, the resonant purity. But then, something else. A faint, unusual ripple disturbing the smooth flow. It wasn't aggressive, not like the probe in the Undermarket. It was subtle, almost like a harmonic overtone, a fleeting signature within the main current. It was gone almost as soon as he perceived it. Natural fluctuation? Or something more? His newly honed senses latched onto the memory of that fleeting resonance, a question mark hanging in the silent darkness of the sewer.
Chapter 22: Whispers in the Flow
The fleeting ripple in the junction's Aether became Rhys's new obsession. It wasn't just a matter of security – though the memory of the Undermarket probe kept him perpetually wary – it was a matter of understanding. If Aetherium Weaving involved interacting with environmental energies, then understanding their nuances, their 'flavors' and 'signatures' as he'd begun to think of them, was paramount.
He spent hours extending his Echo Sense, trying to catch the phenomenon again. It remained elusive, appearing randomly, lasting only moments. Was it tied to pressure changes in the pipes above? Gravitational fluctuations? Or was it, perhaps, the signature of something living interacting with the Aether source, something subtle enough not to register as a blatant presence? The mutated creatures he'd encountered before had chaotic, jarring Aether signatures. This was different. Harmonious, almost melodic, yet distinctly other.
This pursuit naturally led him to contemplate the next logical step implied by the fragmentary knowledge he possessed: Elemental Attunement. The Weaver's Scrawl had hinted at aligning oneself with specific elemental forces within the Aether. His own accidental energy discharges had often manifested as sparks or gusts of air. The environment itself was dominated by water and earth – the dripping stones, the flowing effluent, the ancient masonry.
Water seemed the most logical starting point. It was abundant, its Aether signature relatively clean and stable here, thanks to the unique properties of the junction. He recalled the feeling of the pure Aether he'd been circulating – cool, flowing, cleansing. That felt like a water-aspected energy.
Sitting near the edge, overlooking the main flow channel below, Rhys shifted his focus. Instead of just perceiving the Aether, he tried to resonate with the water element within it. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of the dripping water, the sound of the current, the feeling of dampness on his skin, the memory of coolness. He extended his Echo Sense specifically towards the flowing water, trying to feel its energetic signature not just as a source of generic Aether, but as water energy.
His Aether Pool, now denser and slightly more controlled, responded sluggishly. He attempted to subtly shift its resonance, trying to make his internal energy mimic the cool, flowing signature he perceived from the water below. It was like trying to tune a complex instrument by ear without knowing the notes.
His first attempts were clumsy failures. He either pushed too hard, causing his Aether Pool to churn uncomfortably, sending jolts of cold through his limbs, or his focus slipped, and he lost the delicate connection entirely. The mental strain was different from the circulation practice – less about brute-force concentration, more about subtle sensitivity and intuitive alignment.
He tried focusing on the shard. It resonated faintly with his internal Aether, but it didn't seem to offer specific guidance towards water attunement. It felt more like a general stabilizer, a grounding influence. Perhaps its true function was more complex, related to purification or weaving itself, rather than basic attunement.
He changed tactics. Instead of trying to force his entire Aether Pool to resonate, he attempted to isolate a small portion of his energy. He drew a thread of Aether from his pool and projected it gently towards the nearest dripping stone, trying to match its cool, steady vibrational frequency.
Failure. Failure. Then, a flicker. For a bare instant, he felt a connection. It wasn't just perception; it was a feeling of understanding. He felt the slow, patient process of water seeping through stone, the subtle energy exchange, the inherent coolness and weight. It was like hearing a single, clear note in a cacophony. The sensation vanished immediately, leaving him feeling slightly disoriented and chilled, but also exhilarated.
He tried again, focusing on that memory, that specific resonance. This time, the connection lasted a fraction longer. He felt a pull, a sense of wanting to merge with the water's energy, a feeling of fluidity spreading through his own Aether thread. It was intoxicating but also alarming. He instinctively pulled back, severing the connection, breathing heavily.
This was it. Elemental Attunement. It wasn't just about sensing; it was about aligning, harmonizing, becoming one with the element's essence. And it was clearly dangerous. Losing control, even for a moment, felt like it could lead to being overwhelmed by the elemental energy, potentially causing internal damage or imbalance. Kaelen's cryptic warning echoed in his mind.
He practiced cautiously over the next cycle, making tiny, incremental gains. He learned to establish the connection more reliably, hold it for a few seconds, and withdraw safely. He focused solely on water, not wanting to complicate things further. Each successful connection left him feeling subtly different – calmer, perhaps, more grounded, but also strangely heavy, as if absorbing the water's inertia.
During one such practice session, deeply focused on resonating with the main water flow below, his Echo Sense caught it again – the subtle ripple, the harmonic overtone. This time, being attuned, however slightly, to the water element, he perceived it more clearly. It wasn't just a fluctuation; it felt like a thought, or rather, the echo of a thought, imprinted on the water's energy. Faint, alien, but undeniably there.
Before he could analyze it further, a different sensation intruded, sharp and unwelcome. His Echo Sense, passively scanning the approach tunnels, picked up distinct movement signatures. Multiple individuals, moving with rough coordination, their Aether signatures murky and agitated. They weren't Crimson Hand – too clumsy, too undisciplined. They carried the familiar, unpleasant resonance of petty violence and territorial aggression.
Corbin's crew. They were heading directly for the junction.
Rhys snapped out of his meditative state, instantly alert. He signaled silently to Boulder, who had already tensed, his hand tightening on his pry bar. The whispers in the flow were forgotten, replaced by the immediate, physical threat approaching their sanctuary.