Time within the Deep Observation Cell became a slow, deliberate rhythm of recovery and clandestine exploration. Cycles passed, marked only by the subtle dimming and brightening of the light from the energy-dampening walls and Elmsa's scheduled visits.
Riven's physical strength returned steadily, aided by the nutrient paste he no longer refused. He adhered outwardly to the prescribed routine: rest, meditation using the basic scrolls provided, and simple physical exercises within the confines of the cell.
The true focus of his energy, however, was internal, directed at the strange quiescence of his power. His essence, previously a barely contained storm, felt like a deep, still lake after a devastating flood – depleted, yes, but also unnervingly calm on the surface.
The Marks webbing his skin remained visually dark, but the feeling of connection slowly returned, not as the familiar chaotic thrum, but as a faint, deep warmth, like embers glowing beneath thick ash.
When he practised the basic internal cycling exercises Elmsa mandated, he could now feel a sluggish, hesitant flow beginning to stir, far weaker than before the Crags mission, but also… cleaner? Less jagged? It was difficult to tell if it was true change or just extreme depletion.
His most intense focus, conducted only during periods he judged to be under minimal external scrutiny (often coinciding with Enclave-wide deep meditation cycles when network traffic was lowest), was on the ironwood charm. He kept it tucked away most of the time, but during these secret sessions, he would retrieve it, its smooth, mundane wood a stark contrast to the living, humming cell.
He meticulously replicated the conditions from his initial discovery: deep, even breaths, a state of forced internal stillness and light physical contact between his fingers and the charm. And he confirmed it – the touch, combined with that specific state of calm focus, consistently produced a tiny, localized reaction.
A single node within the complex star-scarred pattern on his hand would flicker briefly with pure, silver light.
'There.'
It required intense concentration. Any stray thought, any flicker of frustration or impatience, and the effect wouldn't occur. It demanded a specific kind of resonant stillness he was only beginning to understand, vastly different from the forceful suppression Elmsa had taught him for emergencies. Over several cycles, he managed to sustain the spark for a second, then two. It wasn't powerful, nothing like the uncontrolled surges he was known for, but it was his, a flicker of controllable light in the overwhelming darkness of his nature.
'It requires calm,' he analyzed, turning the charm over in his hand after a successful spark.
'And contact with this… relic of a life I never knew. Why? What property does it possess? Simple wood, imbued with… what? Fear? Love? Does my essence recognize those human emotions?' The questions were endless, the answers nonexistent within the Enclave's known lore.
This secret progress became his anchor against the gnawing frustration of confinement. The cell, despite its energy-dampening properties, felt suffocating. He paced sometimes, restless energy thrumming beneath his skin, finding the smooth, featureless walls oppressive. He missed the filtered light of the upper grottos, the scent of loam and fungus, even the wary glances of other Mycelians – anything was better than this sterile isolation. But the small, silver spark he could coax into existence was proof that his journey wasn't entirely stalled.
A subtle shift occurred in his monitoring. Elmsa informed him that direct Healer checks would cease unless his condition changed significantly. "Your vital signs are stable, recovery is progressing linearly," she explained, her tone professional. "Continuous ambient monitoring via the cell's integrated sensors is deemed sufficient now." Riven noticed new, faint patterns activating within the walls at intervals, likely mapping his energy field more passively but constantly. Elmsa also mentioned taking on additional duties instructing younger Tethered Path Tenders.
"My visits will adhere to the necessary schedule for your observation reports and supply needs, but may be less frequent outside of that."
Riven received this news with outward neutrality, but inwardly, a spark of opportunity ignited. Less direct observation meant more time for his clandestine experiments with the charm.
He nodded. "I understand, Elmsa. I will continue focusing on the grounding exercises."
During her next visit, bringing nutrient paste and a new data scroll, Elmsa paused after delivering the supplies, her senses probing his energy field more intently than usual. "Your Essence levels are recovering, Riven, though slowly. The signature remains… unusually quiet. Almost stable." She tilted her head. "Are you experiencing any residual effects? Echoes from the Crags? Strange dreams?"
Riven met her gaze, keeping his internal shields tight. He couldn't afford to reveal the charm interaction, couldn't risk having it taken away or his experiments curtailed. "Only fatigue," he lied smoothly. "And frustration with the slow recovery. The grounding exercises help maintain focus."
Elmsa studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Did she suspect? Or merely perform her due diligence?
'He's more guarded than before,' she might be thinking. 'Is it recovery? Or is something else developing beneath the surface?'
She eventually nodded. "Patience is also a discipline, Riven. Crucial when dealing with volatile energies." She placed the new scroll on the ledge. "This details advanced theories on resonance dampening and harmonic field stabilization. Elder Rowan thought it pertinent, given the nature of the Crags event."
He glanced at the scroll title later. Advanced theory, far beyond the simple exercises she usually provided. Was it a test? A trap? Or a genuine attempt to give him tools, hoping he'd apply them towards containment, while perhaps inadvertently giving him clues relevant to his secret explorations of resonance? He couldn't be sure. He added it to his small collection, planning to study it later.
With slightly more privacy afforded by the shift in monitoring, Riven pushed his experiments further. He achieved the silver spark via the charm more readily now.
The next step: could he use it? Could he draw on that fleeting moment of stability?
Focusing with an intensity that left beads of sweat on his forehead, he induced the spark while simultaneously trying to pull the tiniest thread of his now-stirring internal mana through that specific, momentarily stable node in his Mark. It felt like threading a needle in an earthquake. His essence resisted, wanting to surge chaotically. The connection flickered and threatened to overload. He pushed back mentally, focusing on the calm resonance he felt only when touching the charm, using it as a tuning fork for his own power.
For three heartbeats, he succeeded. A minuscule, barely visible flicker of stable, silver coloured mana manifested on the tip of his finger, hovering like a captured mote of starlight. It held none of the wild energy of his usual surges; it felt pure, controlled, his. Then, maintaining the necessary calm focus became too much; the connection wavered, and the flicker winked out.
He slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily, but a fierce, triumphant light burned in his eyes. It was almost nothing, a feat any Tethered Path initiate could likely manage easily. But for him, for the contained storm known as Riven, achieving even that momentary, stable, directed flow of mana through his chaotic Mark, using the strange key of the ironwood charm, felt like cracking open a door that had been sealed for sixteen cycles.
He looked at his hand, then at the dark, complex Marks webbing his arm, and finally at the simple wooden charm resting beside him.
The Elders, the Wardens, and Elmsa – they wanted containment, suppression, and safety within the known rules. But the rules didn't apply to him. He would have to find his way. This charm, this strange resonance, this flicker of stable power – this was the beginning of his true path, forged in secret, within the heart of his cage.