Rhys practically collapsed back into the damp sanctuary of their cellar hideout, the familiar scent of mildew and decay a strangely welcome balm after the tense journey through hostile territory. He leaned heavily against the cold concrete wall, breath sawing in his chest, muscles trembling not just from exertion but from the residual thrum of his nascent Aether Pool settling after its first, tentative taste of clean energy. Boulder secured the hidden grate entrance above, his movements economical and silent, before turning his steady, worried gaze upon Rhys.
"You alright?" Boulder's voice was a low rumble, concern etched into the deep lines around his eyes. He didn't understand the specifics of what Rhys was experiencing, the strange energy Rhys now perceived, but he saw the toll it took – the paleness beneath the grime, the faint tremor in Rhys's hands, the way his focus sometimes seemed distant, lost in a world unseen.
"Better," Rhys managed, forcing a semblance of normalcy. "Just… drained." He slid down the wall to sit on their pile of scavenged blankets, immediately closing his eyes, shutting out the dim cellar light to focus inward. The Aether Pool felt infinitesimally larger, maybe, like adding a single drop of water to a thimble. But more importantly, the energy felt cleaner, calmer than the chaotic residue lingering from the Nexus event. Still, it was fragile, a tiny spark of potential flickering precariously within him. He could feel its inherent instability, the ease with which it could dissipate if not nurtured, stabilized. It demanded attention, demanded more.
Driven by this internal imperative, Rhys attempted to cultivate right there in the cellar. He extended his Echo Sense, probing the immediate environment. The cellar's energy signature was a mess – stagnant, murky, thick with the lingering echoes of industrial chemicals from the defunct mill above, the decay of organic matter, the faint desperation of countless rats that had lived and died within its walls. It felt like trying to breathe through mud. He cautiously tried to draw in the tiniest thread of this ambient energy, recoiling almost instantly as a wave of nausea and psychic 'grit' assaulted his senses. It was poison. This confirmed his suspicion: the quality of the Echo source was paramount. Blind absorption was courting disaster, the Echo Sickness Sera had warned about.
Frustrated but undeterred, Rhys shifted tactics. If he couldn't add fuel, perhaps he could temper the existing flame. Recalling fragmented descriptions of cultivator meditation techniques overheard in Undermarket whispers or gleaned from water-damaged scrolls found in ruins – tales of circulating Qi through meridians – he focused his will on the tiny Aether Pool. He visualized it not as a static pool, but as a flowing current, attempting to guide it through his body along pathways he could only vaguely intuit.
The effort was immense. It required a level of concentration far exceeding his previous absorption practice. His mind strained to hold the visualization, to gently nudge the sluggish energy forward. The pathways felt rough, underdeveloped, resisting the flow like constricted pipes. The Aether Pool, minuscule as it was, threatened to deplete rapidly under this sustained mental pressure. He instinctively reached for the shard, pulling it from his pocket. Holding its smooth, cool facets, focusing on its steady, reassuring presence, helped. The shard seemed to act as a focusing aid, its subtle resonance smoothing the jagged edges of his concentration, perhaps even subtly coaxing the Aether along its intended path.
After what felt like an hour of intense, sweat-inducing effort, the tangible result was minimal. The Aether Pool wasn't noticeably larger, but it felt… marginally denser, more cohesive. Less like scattered mist, more like contained dew. It was exhausting, painstaking work, yielding almost imperceptible gains, reinforcing the brutal reality of his chosen path: progress would be measured in increments, paid for in focus and persistence.
The pressing reality of survival intruded. Their meager supply of nutrient paste was nearly gone. Water filters needed cleaning. Someone had to venture out. Rhys, still feeling the drain from his cultivation attempt and acutely aware of the target painted on his back, knew it had to be Boulder. The discussion was tense. Boulder was reluctant to leave Rhys alone, sensing his vulnerability. Rhys countered with cold logic: staying put meant starving or being found. Avoidance was key. He spent nearly half an hour briefing Boulder, using his Echo Sense memories to sketch a crude map on a piece of scavenged plasteel, marking known Crimson Hand patrol routes, estimated timings derived from his earlier sensory sweeps, potential choke points, and safer, deeper sewer conduits. "Don't fight, don't engage," Rhys stressed, voice low and urgent. "See trouble, smell trouble, feel trouble – you disappear. Observation only. Stick to the deepest shadows."
The wait while Boulder was gone was agonizing. Rhys stayed near the grate, extending his Echo Sense periodically, filtering the cacophony of the Undercity above and around. He focused on the routes Boulder was supposed to take, feeling the pulsing signatures of life, decay, and latent energy. He could clearly distinguish the aggressive, predatory thrum of Crimson Hand patrols moving with increasing frequency, their search patterns becoming more systematic, less random. He felt their collective impatience, a low hum of violence waiting for a target. They were like hounds casting about for a scent, and Rhys knew, with chilling certainty, that he was the quarry.
Boulder returned hours later, moving with his usual quiet tread, but Rhys sensed the tension radiating from him even before he spoke. His report confirmed Rhys's fears. "Patrols doubled," Boulder stated flatly, unpacking a meager haul of supplies – barely enough for two days. "Asking direct questions now. Not just 'energy surge.' They're asking about 'the kid who caused it,' 'the big brute with him,' and specifically mentioning 'a glowing rock.' Saw Scar-Lip Jak's second-in-command leading a sweep near the Market entrance. Had to backtrack twice through the Slime Tunnels."
Rhys felt a cold fist clench in his stomach. They knew. They were connecting the dots. He cross-referenced Boulder's sightings with his own Echo Sense tracking, updating their crude map. The net was undeniably tightening. Their cellar, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage waiting to be sprung.
Seeking some measure of solace or understanding, Rhys turned his attention fully to the shard. He held it up to the dim lamp, tracing its multifaceted surface. He focused his Echo Sense directly onto it, pushing past the surface warmth, trying to perceive its inner nature. What he sensed baffled him. It wasn't solid energy, not like his Aether Pool. It was… layered. Intricate patterns woven from dormant light, complex geometries holding vast potential locked away. It felt ancient, impossibly sophisticated, like holding a dormant star in his palm.
Driven by curiosity and a touch of desperation, he cautiously tried to draw energy from the shard, not just use its focusing field. A tiny, exquisitely pure thread of energy answered his call, flowing effortlessly into his Aether Pool, integrating perfectly, boosting its level noticeably without any negative sensation. But it felt… different. Finite. Like sipping from a priceless vial rather than an open stream. He stopped immediately, a sense of profound reluctance washing over him. This shard was his key, his purifier, his focus, maybe even his lifeline. Depleting its internal reserve felt like squandering his most valuable asset. It could be an emergency boost, perhaps, but not a sustainable source for cultivation.
Rhys leaned back against the wall, the cold reality pressing in. His Aether Pool was laughably weak. The Crimson Hand were actively hunting him by name. Their hideout was compromised. Sera's task in the Sunken Archives remained an impossibility. He needed power, control, resources, and options – all of which he lacked.
Priority One: Improve the Aether Pool, however slowly, for basic utility – enhanced senses, maybe enough control for minor environmental tricks like the one he'd used against the fountain. Priority Two: Find a new, safer, cleaner Echo source. The fountain courtyard was too exposed now, especially after Kaelen's veiled warning. Priority Three: Find a way to acquire resources without direct confrontation or attracting more attention.
The memory of Master Kaelen's sharp, assessing gaze returned. The gruff blacksmith had seen him, warned him. Was he just a wary old man, or something more? Could he offer help? Or was he another threat in the shadows? Tomorrow, Rhys decided, the hunt for a new cultivation spot would begin. The risk was unavoidable. Stagnation was death. He had to keep moving, keep growing, even if it meant walking deeper into the jaws of the beast. The whispering walls of the cellar seemed to close in, amplifying the urgency of his perilous situation.