A hossler

Onish sat cross-legged in the silence of his room, his mind a storm of thoughts. Instead of succumbing to sleep, he chose to delve deeper into his body, seeking the changes that Bhadra had spoken of. It was no longer just a vague sense but a tangible presence. The spirit that had merged with him could now be felt through his skin, a hum of energy that was alive and powerful. Beneath his navel, a blue pearl of condensed spirit and pranic energy pulsed like a second heart, mirroring the one he had seen in Niro. He now understood. He was a spirit bird—a being born from this very energy.

As he examined his body, his subtle form, cracked and bruised from the intense trials he'd faced, revealed delicate blue threads coursing through it. These threads seemed to animate with purpose, as though they were conduits for the very powers he had begun to awaken. His heart chakra, however, remained cold, unresponsive, the tiny specks of energy inside it dormant for now. But that would change with time. He was certain of it.

With a quiet resolve, Onish turned his attention to the scroll that Bhadra had given him. There were more paths to walk—paths to refine his senses. Bhadra had warned him that forging his spirit body was just the beginning. The real work was in learning the intricate diagrams that would unlock his potential. He studied the scroll with intensity, finding the diagrams for vision, hearing, memory, and smell. A small smile tugged at his lips as he realized that his recent suffering—the agony of his spirit's transformation—had heightened his mind beyond what he had ever thought possible. In mere moments, he completed all four diagrams, the complex patterns weaving themselves into his awareness. Now, all he had to do was guide the spirit to awaken the powers that lay dormant.

Sitting in padmasana, Onish closed his eyes and concentrated. With the mere flicker of his thought, the dense spirit energy surged through his body, following the paths he had just traced in his mind. As the energy swirled, he felt his senses sharpen—his ears buzzed with a strange heat, and his nose tingled as the last nadi was activated. His vision blurred for a second, as though his eyes were sinking deeper into their sockets, and the world seemed to grow sharper, more vivid, more... real.

Then, a voice reached him.

It was faint, almost like the rustling of leaves caught in a gentle breeze. Somewhere in the vast, silent corridors of the castle, a voice echoed through the night—a voice full of sorrow, of longing. Onish paused, the voice carrying a melancholy he couldn't ignore. Who could it be? A maid, perhaps, lost in her own heartache? His curiosity, however, was fleeting. The sound faded into the background as he turned his attention inward.

The next wave of sensations hit him suddenly—the scents. Onish's heightened olfactory senses were now a curse. The air around him was thick with the scents of his sweat, the lingering herbs of the black tower's bath, the sweet fragrance of flowers wafting from the gardens outside—all mingling together in an overwhelming assault on his senses. His nose twitched, his breathing became shallow, and before he knew it, a violent sneeze tore through him, followed by another, then another. His face reddened, his eyes watered, as the overwhelming sensory overload wreaked havoc on his body.

He squeezed his nose shut, gasping for air as his body trembled. Slowly, it subsided. He wiped his eyes and looked around. His room, once a place of quiet solitude, now seemed utterly alien. The air felt thick, crawling with unseen insects, the bed uncomfortably lumpy with dust and dirt. Even the floor beneath his feet was covered in a fine, creeping layer of grime. His breath caught in his throat. He could see it now—the filth, the rot, the invisible decay that had once been unnoticed by his senses.

With an almost desperate thought, he commanded the spirit to stop circulating. Instantly, the room returned to normal. The air cleared, the bed settled, and the floor was clean once more. Onish breathed a deep sigh of relief, though he knew it was only temporary. He would have to adapt to this new way of perceiving the world, and that would take time.

When he finally closed his eyes to sleep, a new marvel unfolded. His body lay dormant, but his mind was alert, more awake than it had ever been. It was as if his soul had detached from the flesh, existing outside of time and space. He was both present and distant, a watcher in the truest sense. Bhadra had spoken of this state—the turiyatita, where the mind and body became one, a state of pure consciousness. Onish had heard of such legends from Earth—warriors who fought without fear, even after their heads were severed from their bodies. Could this be the secret to their power? Could this be the key to mastering his own potential?

The morning arrived, and Onish awoke with a strange clarity. After a hearty breakfast with his family, he left with Bhadra for training. This time, however, their destination was not the familiar backyard garden, but a place hidden behind the fortress walls. They approached a massive black gate, taller than any door Onish had seen before. The guards, towering figures in shining armor, blocked their path until Bhadra produced a black coin. The moment it caught the guards' gaze, they stepped aside, and the gate opened with a groan of ancient hinges.

Beyond the gate, Onish was met with a sight that took his breath away. Hundreds of stables stretched out before him, but these were no ordinary stables. The creatures inside were magnificent—spirit-horses with glowing blue eyes, their presence suffused with the same dense energy Onish had felt in his own body. They were more than just horses; they were beings of spirit, noble and powerful.

Servants moved about, tending to the horses, but Bhadra did not call out to them. Instead, he waited patiently as an older man, grizzled and weathered, appeared. Behind him stood a younger man, his eyes suspiciously trained on Onish.

"Good morning, Old Manda," Bhadra greeted, but the old man's face remained dark, his eyes burning with unspoken frustration. The younger man, his gaze sharp and piercing, scrutinized Onish with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

"Why are you here, fowler?" Manda's voice was low, like a growl. "You know the ashvas hate your presence."

Bhadra, unfazed, pushed Onish forward. "Our young lord here needs a horse."

Manda's eyes shifted to Onish, narrowing with recognition. "Congratulations, young lord, on your recovery." The harsh lines of his face softened for a brief moment, but it quickly returned to its customary scowl. He didn't seem to appreciate Bhadra's light-heartedness.

"Enough flattery, Manda," Bhadra said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Just give us two fine Aravanian ashvas. If they behave well, I'm sure our young lord will remember you."

The hossler's face flushed with rage at the mention of "beasts." With a snap of his wrist, a fiery whip materialized in his hand, crackling with energy. Onish could feel the spirit surge toward him, but Bhadra stood motionless, waiting.

"Call them beasts again! You death bringer!" Manda shouted, his fury palpable. The whip crackled through the air like a bolt of lightning.

Bhadra raised his hand. "Alright, no need to blow up like that."

With a growl, Manda's fiery whip disintegrated into nothing, leaving only a wave of hot air. He looked at Onish apologetically. "Pardon this old servant, young lord. We hosslers can't stand it when someone disrespects our ashvas."

Despite the tension, Bhadra's humor didn't wane. "I just couldn't resist. You should've seen the look on his face."

Soon, two magnificent ashvas stood before them, one white as snow, the other deep brown like polished wood. Neither horse wore reins. Onish felt a strange connection as Bhadra helped him mount the white one. Without a word, the horse began to move, its steps sure and steady as if it knew the path ahead. The brown ashva followed, its presence like a shadow.

As they rode through the city streets, Onish learned that the hosslers, like falconers and beast tamers, had the ability to communicate with these spirit-horses. They revered them, almost as equals. But Onish's curiosity was piqued. "Why did Manda call you a 'death bringer'?"

Bhadra chuckled. "Ah, that's a story for another time. But the ashvas are different from mortal horses, you'll see soon enough."

They rode for hours, leaving the bustling city behind, traveling down a winding mud path into the woods where Onish had met Guha. The horses slowed to a halt in a clearing, a tranquil meadow just on the edge of the forest.

Onish could feel the change in the air—something ancient and powerful, like the very spirit of the earth itself. The lesson had begun, but this was only the beginning of the journey that would forge him into something greater.