Chapter 58

Heart’s Ripple

Your reward, Ripple Stance, will begin its transference momentarily.

You may experience mild discomfort and pain. Please endure.

Beginning… 0.1%... 0.2%...

Though asleep, Sylas was conscious—it was a strange sensation, one he hadn't previously experienced. It was close to one of those extremely lucid dreams but somehow felt even more real, if it made any sense. He floated inside the boundless darkness for a moment—and then, as the numbers began ticking up, the world around him came to life.

A platform in the open sky appeared, round and wide, tiled in silver stones. He stood slightly offset from the center, motionless. It wasn’t as though he didn’t wish to move—but he couldn’t. His body simply wouldn’t listen to his commands.

A few moments later, just before the number ticked to 1%, a shadow morphed from within the floor, tendrils of smoke coalescing into a humanoid figure. It stood opposite of Sylas, a thin sword in hand, ‘staring’ at him.

“Heart’s Apprentice,” a voice cradled Sylas’ mind gently while he suddenly felt something within his hand’s grasp. Looking down, he realized it was a beautiful, gemmed, silver sword, its size the exact mirror of the figure’s. “In battle, even the most seasoned fail to use their minds—instead relying on their Hearts. And Hearts… Hearts are culpable. Hearts are weak. Hearts are where all of Creation bleeds.

“Our Mantra beckons you, Heart’s Apprentice—seek the Heart. And within that Heart, seek that which makes it weak. First of the Six Stances of the Heartseeker—Heart’s Ripple—will teach you to seek that moment, that singular point in time within which your opponent falters. Their Heart flutters. Fear or surprise or shock or even love inspires them for a moment… and their Heart Ripples. Their attention falters. Their armor degrades. And you… and you strike, o’ Heart’s Apprentice.

“Hold the sword. Watch me. Listen to the sounds of my Heart. Seek. Seek…”

Sylas stood dumbfounded for a moment, somewhat confused. When the system mentioned he’d be taught the stance while asleep, he figured he’d literally be, well, taught–as in, all that information would just be shoved into his head. He didn’t think he’d actually have to… learn. Sighing, he shook his head and grasped the sword. He had no clue what ‘listening to the Heart’ meant, but he had a whole night to start learning. Just then, he felt a sword puncture him. Looking down, a thin blade was ejected from his heart.

“You are dead.”

“…”

“Again.” What the shit—oh, come on… Sylas realized it right then and there, this would be a ‘dual training’ of sorts. Each time he’d succumb to the emotions… he’d get killed. And, all the while, he had to also listen to the figure’s Heart. The ‘transference’ would likely only get completed when he got to stab the figure. To do that, however, he first had to observe it…

Stab. Once again, the thin sword coiled its way to Sylas’ heart. Though he tried to defend and parry, he was beyond slow—beyond slow in comparison, that is. While Sylas thought his blade to be fast, it was nothing compared to the figure’s. He couldn’t follow it. If the figure stabbed, it killed. Without a fault.

“Calm thy heart, Apprentice,” the figure would occasionally espouse advice. “Heartseeker does not discriminate. It will point its blade at your own Heart if it is stormy. Be calm. Tranquil. Listen.”

“…” it wasn’t that Sylas didn’t want to rebuke with a clever quip, it was that… well, he couldn’t. Though he could move his body, lips, apparently, weren’t part of that ordeal. As such, he had to silently take the abuse, both physical and verbal.

“Distill the words, quell the thoughts, empty the Heart. We are all slaves to the primal—but we must yet become unchained.”

Stab.

“Weave the threads of life within the blade, and listen to the Hearts espouse their tales. They all scream and they all beg and they all cry. Listen, Apprentice. Listen to the Hearts.”

Stab.

“Undo what was done, unbreak what was broken, unlove what was loved, unhear what was heard. Listen, Apprentice. Listen to the Heart’s Ripples.”

Stab. Time and again, Sylas found himself with a sword digging into his heart—all the while, any and all of his attempts at retaliation were met by an easy-looking dodge or parry. What frustrated him the most, perhaps, was that he felt his sword was… slow. It was fast, but it was slow. He couldn't get it where he wanted it quickly enough. As though there was a lag between his thought and the blade responding.

“Stop seeing, Apprentice. It is not called Heart’s View. It is called Heart’s Ripple. You cannot see the Heart’s Ripple—it is not a body of water. Listen.”

“…” This guy’s a bit of a sarcastic prick, ain’t he? Sylas grumbled inwardly, though began concentrating again. The number was rising—sometimes a bit slower, sometimes a bit faster, but was steadily increasing, currently sitting at 17%. It likely represented Sylas’ progress with the skill.

As per man’s orders, Sylas stopped ‘seeing’. After all, he didn’t really need to see when it came to the name ‘Heartseeker’—‘twas self-explanatory as to where it would go. As such, he dedicated less concentration to his eyes and more to his ears. However, he couldn’t hear any ripples—well, besides those made by the figure’s blade as it spun through the air barrier and stabbed into Sylas’ heart.

“Heart cannot be heard by the deaf as the sunrise cannot be understood by the blind. Listen, Apprentice. Listen to the Ripple.”

Grinding his teeth together, Sylas was immediately reminded that was not what he was supposed to be doing as he got stabbed once more.

“Control thy Heart, Apprentice. How do you expect to conquer the Hearts of others when you cannot conquer thine Own? Cease your Heart’s bleeding, Apprentice. The blood does not make it strong.”

"…" taking a deep breath, Sylas emptied his mind completely. He was barren of thoughts, barren of emotions, barren of ideas, of desires, of hopes and of dreams and of fears and all else. His eyes attained a certain kind of sharpness, though they appeared vacant and blind. The sounds of the world slowed down, strangely enough, and he could hear them all distinctly—even sounds within the sounds. For instance, when their blades clashed—beyond the surface-level noise of two pieces of metal scraping, there were the decibels, the initial, high-pitched string, and the exiting echo. And within that echo… he heard it.

Almost instinctively, he pushed his blade forward, feeling it stabbing into something flesh-like. He wanted to pull back immediately, memories flashing like thunder, but was unable. Regaining his wits, he saw that the figure was holding the sword hostage, holding it into its heart. Though featureless, he could see the eyes watching him. Sylas’ hands began shaking, but he couldn’t let go. Something didn’t allow him to let go.

“Demons haunt your Heart, Apprentice.”

“…”

“You mustn’t let them. For the Heartseeker… all we have are our Hearts. Compared to other Schools, our bodies are weak. Our minds are weak. Our souls are weak. But our Hearts… our Hearts are incomparable. Many of my kin and I stared into the eyes of the God of Death and yet our Hearts did not flutter.”

“…”

“Their Hearts will bleed. Always,” the figure pulled the sword even further, digging it in all the way until the guard. By then, Sylas was standing barely a few feet away. “Blood for Blood. Breath for Breath. Their Heart for yours. Do you feel it? The beating. Like a drum. Bum-dum. Bum-dum. One beat. Two. Three. Rhythmic. Like a song. Like a child’s laughter. We are custodians of the Hearts, Apprentice. We know who men and women are by the way their Hearts sing. Are they evil? Are they good? Are they young? Are they old? Strong? Weak? Healthy? Sickly? Empty? Happy? We needn’t see their eyes and needn’t hear the words from their lips to know. We only need to listen. To listen. To what?”

“T-their Hearts…” Sylas mumbled instinctively, unaware that he could even talk.

“Their Hearts. Their Hearts will tell you their tales, Apprentice. And their Ripples will tell you their doom. You have heard it. You have captured it. My Ripple. The solitary time my Heart fluttered. Do you know when? When the skies above our home were cleaved open and a figure dangling on the chains descended.”

“!!!”

“My Heart fluttered for a moment. But a moment was enough. Listen to their Hearts, Apprentice. Our Mantra is One and our Mantra is Eternal.”

Sylas slowly opened his eyes, his heart beating like crazy. The figure in the sky… slowly being dangled down by the chains holding it. Was it one and the same? Probably. After all, what were the chances of two distinct figures like that existing?

Sylas sat up, realizing he was covered in sweat. Looking at his hands, they were still shaking faintly. Stabbing the figure in the heart, though entirely enclosed within the dream, felt too real. And yet, he knew, he’d have to move past it. Even if by force, he’d have to be able to hold a sword, point it at someone, and stab. Stab for all hell and heaven.

Chuckling bitterly, he stood up and walked out toward the terrace, letting the frigid, night’s wind belt against his exposed torso and cheeks. Though he would have to become fine with killing people, Sylas knew he’d never become like the figure—in complete control of his heart. He didn’t want to, really. The joy of life were the surprises—those moments, good or bad, that shake a person up, that change them. If nothing ever could make his heart flutter… what would even be the point, then? There’d be none, he knew.

As such, the Heartseekers could have their control, their ability to hear someone’s entire story. He’d settle for a trick or two, so long as he could keep who he was intact. For now and forever.