The sound of rain against the window had stopped, but the sky remained covered in clouds.
Vaelorian sat at his desk, scrolling through the latest news on his phone. Most of the headlines were ordinary—political discussions, economic updates, scientific discoveries, and reports of unusual weather across different regions.
One headline caught his attention.
Unusual Atmospheric Disturbance Over a Remote Mountainous Region Raises Questions.
He opened it.
The article contained a few satellite images and comments from researchers who had been examining the sudden changes in cloud movement and atmospheric pressure. There was no confirmed explanation. Some suggested unusual local weather conditions, while others believed the available data was insufficient to reach a conclusion.
Vaelorian enlarged one of the images.
The clouds appeared to form an almost circular pattern around the mountain.
He stared at it for a moment.
"Strange."
He searched for additional reports, but most repeated the same information.
Eventually, he closed the article.
It was probably just another unexplained natural event.
Still, something about the image bothered him.
Not because he understood it.
Because he didn't.
Later that afternoon, Vaelorian met his friends at their usual place.
Their conversation quickly shifted from studies to a recent football match, followed by an argument about who had played the worst.
"You missed an easy goal," one of them said.
"It wasn't easy," Vaelorian replied.
"You had an open goal!"
"And you still managed to miss two penalties."
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The others burst into laughter.
For a while, the strange article and his notebook were completely forgotten.
But as the evening approached, Vaelorian found himself thinking about something his father had once told him.
Understanding something required patience. Looking at a problem from a hundred different angles meant nothing if he failed to understand even the first one.
Perhaps he had been trying to understand too much at once. Find the original chapter at g.com.
That night, he placed his notebook on the desk and sat on the floor.
He had spent several weeks observing his breathing, posture, balance, and physical reactions. Yet his progress remained frustratingly slow.
He closed his eyes.
His breathing was steady.
He tried to become aware of every movement—the expansion of his chest, the movement of his abdomen, the subtle tension in his shoulders.
After several minutes, his thoughts began wandering.
He opened his eyes.
"Again."
This time, he focused on the simplest thing: breathing without deliberately changing its rhythm.
Minutes passed.
Nothing extraordinary happened.
No mysterious energy appeared. No light surrounded his body. There was no sudden transformation.
Only his breathing.
Only his body.
But gradually, he began noticing details he had previously ignored. The slight difference between inhalation and exhalation. The tension in his muscles. The way his heartbeat changed after holding his breath for a few seconds.
He wrote down what he had observed.
Then he added another sentence.
Perhaps the first step is not controlling something, but understanding it.
He looked at the words for a while.
For the first time in several days, he felt that his efforts were moving in a direction.
Not because he had gained power.
Because he had found a better question.
Far away, beneath an ancient structure, a man stood before a circular stone platform.
Several markings had appeared across its surface. They were faint, almost invisible, but their arrangement was different from what had been recorded in the past.
An elderly cultivator examined them carefully.
"How long has it been like this?"
"Since the disturbance beneath the mountain," another man answered.
The elderly cultivator lowered his hand towards the platform.
A faint vibration travelled through the stone.
His expression became serious. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
"Has anyone else noticed?"
"We have received reports from two other regions. The changes are minor, but the patterns are similar."
"Similar?"
"Not identical."
Silence followed.
The elderly man slowly withdrew his hand.
"Then don't interfere with them yet. Observe."
The younger man hesitated.
"And the mountain?"
The elderly cultivator looked towards the markings.
"That matter is no longer in our hands."
In another place, the black-robed figure stood alone beneath an unfamiliar sky.
A gentle breeze moved across the empty platform. In his palm rested the same black sphere.
He looked towards the distant horizon.
For a brief moment, the surface of the sphere trembled.
His eyes narrowed.
"So it has begun again."
He closed his hand.
The trembling stopped.
No one else was present to hear his words.
Vaelorian was asleep by then.
His notebook lay open beside his bed, its latest entry still visible beneath the dim light of his desk lamp.
Outside, the clouds slowly drifted across the night sky.
Everything appeared normal.
And yet, somewhere beyond the reach of ordinary observation, something had changed.
Vaelorian knew nothing about the ancient platform, the mountain, or the people watching events unfold.
He had only his questions.
And for now, those questions were enough to keep him moving.