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Now reading: Volume 2—Chapter 41: Blood in the Water from Records of Immortality, a Reincarnation novel by A.S. Storyteller.

I must deepen my understanding of pranic flow while balancing it with the atmic current.

For the next several days, Ashan beca a student of his own inner circuitry. He mapped the flow of prana through his nadis with a cartographer's patience – its tides and eddies, its natural pathways, its minor resistances. He traced each channel from source to terminus, noting where the flow was strong and where it faltered, where it moved with ease and where it struggled against blockages he had long forgotten.

He rarely left his cabin, erging only when solitude pressed against his need for the sea's vast indifference. His existence contracted to the narrow space between the walls, between his ears, between one breath and the next. A self‑imposed ascetic, he tested how long he could sustain himself on prana alone, using deprivation as a whetstone to sharpen his internal awareness, to cut away everything not essential.

........

Captain Osric took a long, contemplative drag from his chilim, the ember glowing like a tiny, trapped star against the deepening twilight. "Hmm. Still holed up in his cave," he mused to the open sea. A dark grey plu jetted from his nostrils, rging with the gathering darkness. He gazed at the erging starfield and sighed – a sound of weariness and fond rembrance.

"Ah, to be young and burning with that singular fire."

He returned to the wheel, his voice a low, gravelly accompanint to the waves.

"The ship is the mother, the sea is the father..."

........

Inside the cabin, Ashan's body was a nexus of subtle energy. A faint, dark luminescence clung to his skin, outlining the channels of his power. Wisps of vital force cycled through his entire system – heart, lungs, blood, sinew, bone. Every part humd with calibrated power.

His breath was a trono in the silence.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

He threw a straight punch into the empty air. A web of faint, luminous lines flared along his arm – his nerves reacting to the concentrated surge, his prana flowing where directed, his will made manifest.

The pranic flow is smoothing. Becoming more efficient. But it lacks the intuitive, effortless direction of my atmic flow. He paused. It's still a tool I command, not an extension of my will.

Should I study the physical disciplines of the Sharir Marga? Or are the true professions of Samyama simply withheld until that serpent sees fit to enlighten ?

He rose, flexing his body, feeling the new cohesion of muscle and energy. His stomach was flat, hollow.

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Ten days. That is the absolute limit without sustenance.

Ti to break the fast.

........

He erged from his cabin, blinking against the fiery assault of the setting sun.

Relentlessly bright.

"Finally decided to leave your hermitage!" Captain Osric called from the helm, the chilim still perched between his fingers.

"Is there anything to eat?" Ashan moved to the rail.

Osric flicked a small, worn ring through the air. Ashan caught it, tapped it with a thread of urja. A modest pile of salted fish and several bottles of dark rum materialized on the deck.

Ashan stared at the ager hoard, then leveled a blank look at the Captain.

"Haha! Don't give that stare." Osric's laugh was bright. "It's fresh! Well... fresh-ish. Two, maybe three days old at most."

Tch. Ashan clicked his tongue. I'm starting to miss hot flatbread and spiced curry.

He picked up a fish. A small, controlled ball of fla blossod in his palm. He held the fish within it, rotating slowly, until the skin crisped and the flesh whitened. He extinguished the fla and bit into the fish.

Palatable. Hunger is the best sauce.

He made quick work of the fish and washed it down with several deep pulls from a bottle of rum.

"You've the appetite of a growing kraken," Osric observed.

"Hic! That I do." Ashan's face was flushed, his head light. He held the half‑empty bottle loosely. "What's our supply status?"

"Worry not. We'll make landfall in two or three days." Osric gestured to the empty wrappers. "This was the last of the formal rations. Fishing's a fool's gamble here – the sea rakshasas hunt these waters, and they're hungrier than you." He eyed the remaining bottle. "And you've had enough of that."

"Right." Ashan set the rum aside, letting the cool evening breeze clear his thoughts. He leaned on the rail.

"Are you a sisya to one of the Elders?" Osric's voice was casual.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"A mission direct from the Kumar Taevor for one so new..." Osric shrugged. "...sparks curiosity, is all."

Ashan's gaze turned scrutinizing.

[Viksana: Analyse] – Surface Glimpse.

He let a sliver of his siddhi extend – not enough to swirl his eyes, but enough to taste the surface of Osric's intent.

No hidden agenda. Simple, loyal curiosity. Not a plant from a rival House.

"Hey now, no need for the suspicious glare!" Osric protested, waving his hands. "My loyalty is to the House, coin and creed."

"I'm not suspecting you." Ashan turned back to the darkening sea.

Osric took a final drag from the chilim, tapped the ashes overboard. "We're still in the Alonmarai, but nearing its edge. The waters ahead... they get a bit more lively. Less orderly."

Hmm.

As if summoned by the warning, the calm surface of the ocean ahead erupted. Not a single breach, but a series of violent, simultaneous tears in the water.

Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!

A school of sleek, silver‑flanked shapes shot from the depths – dorsal fins cutting the water like knives, dark, hungry eyes fixed on the vessel.

"School of Krakhan!" Osric barked, his lethargy vanishing. A fierce grin split his face. "How about it, Ashan? Fancy so fresh, juicy at for a change?"

He retrieved a heavy, beautifully crafted arbalest from his spatial ring.

An X‑bow. Advanced craftsmanship.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

Osric fired in rapid succession. The bolts struck just behind the leading creatures – missing by feet.

"Damned quick devils!"

"Of course I want that at." Ashan's voice was low, his own hunger rising.

His stomach growled in vehent agreent. But his eyes were fixed on the approaching predators – analyzing their speed, their formation, the predatory gleam in their dark eyes.

The hunt is on.

But the roles of hunter and prey are yet to be decided.

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