Chapter 140: Ten Is Still Not Enough

The pebble hit me between the eyes.

I caught it after it bounced off my nose and stared at it. This was becoming personal.

I had been lying on my bed for the better part of twenty minutes, tossing it toward the ceiling and trying to catch the exact moment Daphne had shown me. Not while it was falling, and not when it was already close enough to hit me in the face. Before.

I tossed it again. Up. It slowed, stopped, and for a very small moment had nowhere to go.

I reached for Gravity. Lighter.

The mana slipped. Push. The pebble moved sideways, and I caught it before it could find another part of my face.

Better. Technically.

Dream Haven was under my head, which made the entire exercise considerably more tolerable. I tossed the pebble again, and this time it came down a little slower, I thought. It was difficult to tell with pebbles. They lacked cooperation.

Someone knocked.

"Alash."

Cedric. I closed my eyes.

"Alash."

"I heard you."

"Then answer."

"I just did."

A pause. "Core cultivation starts soon."

"I know."

"You knew on Thursday too. You were late."

"Knowing and arriving are separate skills."

The door stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then Cedric walked away, probably because he had finally accepted that nothing useful was going to happen here. Good for him.

I looked at the ceiling.

Monday. Selene’s suspension was over. Two days without practical cultivation had been peaceful; there had been theory instead, which was less peaceful, but theory had chairs. Today we were going back to circulation. Slow circulation. Careful circulation. Supervised circulation, the kind where every instructor in the room watches your breathing as though you are personally trying to die in an inconvenient way.

I looked at Dream Haven, then at the pebble, then at the door.

I got up. There were limits to how much disappointment a morning should contain, and apparently nobody had informed Monday.

***

Selene had arranged the mats before we arrived: thirty-seven of them in straight rows, equal space between each, no room for interpretation.

Cedric still spent the first minute trying to make everyone sit properly. Penelope moved two people, and the rows became proper. Cedric looked at her. Penelope sat down. He decided not to ask.

I chose a mat at the back, because it had a wall behind it, and put Dream Haven between my back and the stone. Selene saw it. I saw her see it. Neither of us said anything. Our relationship had improved.

She waited until everyone settled.

"Two days."

Nobody answered. There are certain openings in life that do not need participation.

"Practical cultivation was suspended for two days." She walked along the first row of mats. "You are not making those two days up."

A few people shifted. There it was.

"Nobody adds extra cycles. Nobody increases circulation speed. Nobody increases pressure because they feel rested." She stopped. "If you damage your channels because you are impatient, being rested will not make the damage more intelligent."

Roland lowered his head. I wasn’t sure whether he was hiding a smile or examining his shoes.

"One normal cycle," Selene said. "Begin."

I closed my eyes.

The room settled around me: breathing, clothes moving, somebody clearing their throat, a mat scraping once against the floor. Then less.

I reached inward. My core was easy to find. D-Black. It had been D-Black for a while now, dark mana turning slowly inside it, stable and healthy and annoying.

I pulled, and mana moved out the way Selene had taught us. Through the chest, across the shoulder, down the arm. No forcing, no sudden pull, just enough pressure to keep it moving. I knew the route well enough by now that most of it happened without much thought, which left room for other thoughts. Usually that was dangerous.

The mana reached my shoulder. I pulled slightly harder.

[No.]

I stopped. Not because the System had spoken, but because I had not heard it in a while.

Since the Gallery it had answered when I spoke to it, mostly. It had not once spoken first. I had noticed that the way you notice a clock has stopped: not when it happens, but some time afterwards, all at once.

’You’re still here.’

[I was unaware that this was in question.]

’You’ve been quiet.’

[You have been unusually well behaved.]

I opened one eye. Nothing had changed. Selene was walking between the rows, and everyone else was still cultivating. I closed it again.

’That’s insulting.’

[It was praise.]

’It didn’t sound like praise.’

[I adjusted for the recipient.]

I nearly lost the circulation. Nearly. I steadied it before Selene could notice.

’So you’ve just been sitting there?’

[I do not sit.]

’Watching, then.’

[Yes.]

’All weekend?’

[Yes.]

That was slightly uncomfortable.

’You could have said something.’

[About the crates?]

I waited.

’You saw that.’

[I see most things you do.]

’That’s worse when you say it like that.’

[It has been true for fifteen years.]

Fair.

On Saturday morning, a supply delivery had arrived at Sanctuary as eleven crates addressed to three different residences, stacked across the foot of the stairs. I had come down, looked at them, and started working out the most efficient way to sort them. Before I had finished the first step, Roland had decided which crates belonged where, Cedric had organized a carrying line nobody had asked for, and Marren and Delia were halfway across the courtyard with the first of them. I sat down on the bottom stair and let them. On the second trip, Delia caught her palm on a split board. It was a shallow cut, the kind I could have closed in the time it took to look at it, and I was closer than Lena. I stayed on the stair. Lena cleaned it, bound it, told Delia off for carrying crates without gloves, and did all of it well.

It had taken a surprising amount of effort to do nothing. I had done it anyway.

The mana reached my hand and started back, slow and controlled. I kept it there.

’You didn’t even say anything when I let Lena handle Delia.’

[I considered it.]

’And?’

[I did not wish to frighten you.]

I frowned. ’Why would that frighten me?’

[Praise can be difficult at your age.]

I almost laughed. My mana jumped.

"Control," said Selene, from somewhere to my left.

I fixed it. The System said nothing. It did not need to.

’That was your fault.’

[Of course.]

The first cycle went on. Four minutes, maybe five. I wasn’t counting; Selene was. The mana returned toward my core, and the pressure was easy. Too easy. I could move faster. Not a lot. A little. Enough to shorten the cycle without doing anything stupid. Probably.

[No.]

’I haven’t done anything.’

[Yet.]

’I was thinking.’

[That is normally where it begins.]

’Five percent.’

[No.]

’You don’t even know what I was going to say.’

[Five percent.]

I went quiet.

[I know you, Host.]

’Unfortunately.’

[Likewise.]

The mana settled back into my core, and Selene raised one hand.

"Release."

Everyone stopped. A long breath went through the room, thirty-seven of them at once. Someone near the front rolled their shoulders; someone else cracked their neck.

"Again," said Selene.

Nobody complained. There was a moment when everybody wanted to, and nobody did, and that was not how this term had started.

Second cycle. Same speed, same path, same pressure. D-Black.

That was the problem. Not that there was anything wrong with D-Black. For a first-year, D-Black was ridiculous; all five of us were ridiculous, and that part had been made clear to us often enough. But D-Black was not SS, and it was not close to SS. After D-Black came D-Grey and D-White. Then C, then B, then A, then S, and only then SS, with three steps inside every one of them. And the step from White into the next rank was worse than the others. People got stuck there for months. Years. Sometimes permanently.

My mana moved through my chest, very slowly.

’Ten.’

No answer.

’Ten cycles. Every day.’

[We have had this conversation.]

’Have it again.’

[Why?]

’Maybe you’ve changed your mind.’

[I have not.]

’Ten every day. Properly.’

[Insufficient.]

I already knew that. It was still irritating.

’Eleven.’

[No.]

’Twelve.’

[No.]

’You could think about it first.’

[I did. Years ago.]

I pulled the mana through my shoulder. ’Fifteen?’

[You are negotiating with your mana channels as though they are merchants.]

’Roland gets good results.’

[Your mana channels do not want Brightvale tea.]

I had no answer to that.

[You keep changing the number.]

’That’s what numbers are for.’

[The number is not the problem.]

’Then what is?’

It did not answer, which was its own kind of answer, and not a pleasant one.

The circulation continued, slow and safe. Calling it useless would have been unfair. It wasn’t useless, and that was what made it worse. It worked. Every cycle helped, and every day helped. The academy knew what it was doing, and Selene knew what she was doing. The problem was the amount of time required to do it correctly.

I had a little more than four years.

The countdown had once been much larger. I remembered when ten years had sounded almost generous. I had been ten, and ten-year-old me had been an idiot. Admittedly, current me had evidence against him too. But less. Hopefully.

’At ten cycles every day...’

[No.]

’I haven’t asked yet.’

[You were going to ask whether you could reach SS before the barrier failed.]

I pulled the mana back toward my core.

’Can I?’

The System didn’t answer immediately. That told me enough. I waited anyway.

[No.]

No joke after it. No comment. Just no.

The mana kept moving. My breathing stayed the same. Nothing in the room changed. Selene walked past somebody; Cedric shifted; a window rattled lightly in the wind.

Four years. D-Black. SS.

The numbers stayed where they were. I had survived worse things than numbers. Numbers were simply more patient.

"Release."

Selene’s voice brought me back. The mana settled, and I opened my eyes. Nobody was looking at me. Good.

She gave us less than a minute. "Third cycle."

I closed them again. Mana moved. Slow. Safe. Not enough.

***

By the fourth cycle, somebody had started pushing.

I felt it before Selene said anything. Not their mana; the room. There is a way people breathe when they are trying harder than they want anyone to know. Shorter. Quieter.

Marren was three rows ahead of me, and his shoulders had tightened.

Selene reached him. "Reduce pressure."

"I’m fine."

"Reduce it."

He did, for about ten seconds. Then his breathing changed again.

Selene stopped walking. "Marren."

He opened his eyes. "I can handle it."

"I know."

That seemed to surprise him. "So..."

"Stop."

His face changed. Not much. Enough.

"I’m not hurt."

"Correct."

"I can finish."

"You can."

He waited. Selene waited too.

"Tomorrow," she said.

That landed badly. Marren’s jaw tightened. "But I..."

"Release."

He released. The room became very interested in cultivation.

Selene looked around at the rest of us. "Your channels do not become stronger because you refuse to listen to them." Nobody moved. "Pain is late."

That got my attention.

"So is visible damage." She turned slightly, making sure everyone could hear. "By the time some forms of channel strain become obvious, you have already been repeating the mistake for months."

James came to mind. Not because he was here, but because he wasn’t, and because we had already seen exactly what Selene meant. No dramatic collapse. No torn skin. Nothing you could point at from across a room. Just damage buried inside something a person would rely on for the rest of his life.

"More pressure," Selene said, walking on, "is not always more progress."

The System stayed silent. I knew why. It was letting Selene make its argument for it, which was annoying, and efficient, and I respected it reluctantly.

My mana returned.

’Eleven is still no?’

[Yes.]

’You could pretend to struggle with the decision.’

[No.]

There was the System I knew.

\*\*\*

We stopped after six cycles. Cedric immediately looked at Selene. Selene looked back. He reconsidered whatever he had been planning to say, which I counted as more good growth.

"Normal schedule tomorrow," she said. "No unsupervised circulation tonight."

That received a few looks.

"If I detect anyone cultivating in the residence, you lose practical access for a week."

The looks disappeared.

"If you attempt to hide it, two."

Nobody looked at anything anymore. Selene dismissed us.

I stood slowly. My body wasn’t tired, not really. Cultivation done properly doesn’t leave you shaking. It leaves a quieter kind of fatigue, where everything works but would prefer you stopped using it for a while.

I picked up Dream Haven, and the pebble dropped out from under it.

Roland was beside me. He looked down at it, and then at me.

"Is that the pebble from Friday?"

"Probably."

"You don’t know?"

"I haven’t asked it."

Roland stared at me. I picked it up. He walked away. Some people know when a conversation has reached its natural end.

I tossed the pebble as we left the hall. Up. At the top, lighter.

It fell slower. Definitely slower. Not much, but enough that I didn’t have to convince myself this time.

[Better.]

I caught it. ’Level four?’

[No.]

’Then why are you talking?’

[You complained when I was quiet.]

I stopped for half a step. ’You’ve been waiting to use that.’

[Yes.]

’That’s petty.’

[A decade and a half with you has had consequences.]

I decided not to ask what kind. The answer would probably be rude.

We crossed the courtyard, and people spread out toward the residences. I tossed the pebble again.

On Friday, I had been trying to solve Gravity at the wrong point. When the weight was already falling. When it already had speed. When the Barrier was about to take the hit. Daphne had started earlier, before the fall became a problem, before there was anything to stop.

I caught the pebble.

Ten cycles a day. That was the number I kept trying to change. More cycles, more pressure, faster circulation. The obvious answer, which had already been ruled out.

’You said the number isn’t the problem.’

[Yes.]

’Then what is?’

[That is for you to determine.]

’Convenient.’

[Very.]

’Do you know?’

The System didn’t answer immediately, and that made me pay attention.

[Partly.]

I lowered the pebble. ’Partly?’

[Your advancement is limited by more than your daily cycle count. Channel tolerance. Core density. Conversion efficiency. Physical adaptation. Rank thresholds. External conditions. Several factors affect the rate.]

’And you know how to fix them.’

[Some.]

’All?’

[No.]

That was rare. Not the System lacking an answer, but the System admitting it plainly before I had dragged the admission out of it.

’You’re getting humble.’

[Do not ruin the moment.]

I smiled a little, then looked at the pebble.

There wasn’t an answer here. Not yet. Gravity wasn’t going to make me SS, and a pebble was not going to hold up a divine barrier. But Daphne had been right about something larger than Gravity. The point where you try to solve a problem matters. Maybe I had spent too long staring at the end of this one: SS, four years, a number at the bottom of a very long fall. Push harder. Cultivate more. Get there faster. Like trying to stop the iron weight after it had already picked up speed.

I tossed the pebble. At the top, it stopped for almost nothing, one small moment before gravity decided the rest, and I made it lighter.

It came down into my hand.

’Ten is still not enough.’

[No.]

No joke this time.

I put the pebble in my pocket.

Sanctuary was getting better. That mattered. I was getting better too, and that mattered as well.

The countdown did not care about either of those things.

I kept walking.