Only a fool leads with his Heart.

Placing the crystal carefully down on his small table, Todd puts his wrist against the corner of his mouth and pushes hard against his teeth.

“Are you... turkey-plucking kidding me?” He groans, thumping at himself in the cheekbone and then in a trail up to his forehead. “Aw. I’m such an idiot.”

ℹ Introduction→Section G: Unify Heaven and Earth, and circulate the Energy of the Universe through your body. That is the Spiritual Metabolism. That is the first season of Cultivation.

Todd packs away his disappointment so it will keep for another day. Turns out, the Cultivation Manual had come with instructions. Of course there were instructions! Of course there were!

Todd pounds his fist against his bed frame and grimaces toothily. He had been so excited to start Cultivating he’d skipped ahead, and as it turns out, skipped over some critical notes.

One of the most basic tasks of early Cultivation is to build a framework, a network of lines in your body through which the Cosmic Energy can flow. Then once the lines are established, one must cycle the Energy: directing it to channel, cut and deepen the framework into their flesh and spirit. This is just the beginning step, but an absolutely necessary one because the human body doesn’t actually physically interact well with Cosmic Energy; not normally and not at first. The start of Cultivation is using those Energy channels to anchor the body to an entirely new organ system, one that’s almost completely spiritual.

Todd had understood that part and he’d made great progress. The first two channels from last night had been enough to raise him to level two, and he had carved two more in the past hour. Unfortunately it had become clear that each subsequent level would be more difficult to reach, and he feels intuitively that he has progressed only a limited way to his next benchmark.

He understands because of a weightless, liquid agitation in his heart (the one lodged in his pericardium, not his feelings). It was the Cosmic Energy, and the shadow of it was just starting to make itself known to him. He could just barely feel it as a pressure inside himself, but not an uncomfortable one; like a pint-sized hydroelectric dam, filling his heart with power and potential.

But that was the problem. Because see, all those foundational channels need to anchor somewhere. Todd had chosen his heart because the steps in the Crystal had seemed intuitive, and upon access they had been the first to come to mind. But apparently, this set of instructions had been grouped under a category called “For Informational Purposes Only, Not Approved or Recommended for Use.”

Todd cradles his face in his hands. He was supposed to put the stupid thing in his stomach – in some weird thing called a Dantian. According to the Manual, the Dantian is ‘safe’, ‘stable’, and ‘less prone to explosions or soft tissue damage’, at least compared to its alternatives.

As the soft crystal light of the room intensifies, he moans. “What does it mean by: explosion?” Then he places his hand on his ribs and rubs them gently.

The lights could be a sign that the room will be unlocking shortly, so Todd sniffs at himself and leaps to his feet. Stripping hastily, he grabs the little knife to carve off another little corner of soap and then ducking his head rushes into his alcave to shower in the chill spout. By the time he’s finished and shiverfully pondering his lack of a body towel, a red square of color has appeared on the right hand wall. It pulses dimly, perhaps hoping to get his attention.

On his first hurried attempt, he realizes he’s put his over-robe on inside out, and it rumples loudly as he fumbles with the arms and gets it on right way out again. Kicking at the wicker crate, he looks for shoes and realizes he’s been provided with none. He considers wearing his soccer cleats, but distractedly remembers the wooden armor and fishes it out of his wooden chest instead.

Thread the binding through the loop here, and here, and it goes on his arm just like so: Todd straps and affixes his arm and chest guard pieces to himself as best he can. The increasing urgency of the flashing panel panics him, so he lunges over to pick up his Cultivation Manual and healing pills. He manages to grab them just in time for the room teleportation array to activate, and the room vanishes in less than a blink.

Nearly falling over once the table vanished, Todd leans hard to rebalance his squat, then rises to his feet. He reorients himself: teal below and black above like the sky flipped head over heels. “This place is even weirder the second time,” he mutters, the blue stone of the Tutorial plaza-four chill under his bare toes.

“Drips, hey! There you are,” calls Joe. Wearing his martial robe, Joe’s six foot height fits intimidatingly into his new persona and his dirty blonde hair is tousled in an infuriatingly effortless suave. He stands among the dozens of people appeared out of their building; the others in various stages of upright but generally united in a shared sense of resigned confusion wobbling into light mania.

Threading his way around his neighbors with a few polite hellos, Todd approaches Joe and accepts a handshake. “How was your -” he begins, but Candra finds them midsentence.

“I swear, I’m so sick of the color blue,” she says, gripping the shoulders of her robe and wiggling uncomfortably to adjust herself. Her hair hangs down, limp and sepia with an exhaustion that’s settled under her eyes and exporting elsewhere. “Do I look dumb in this thing?” She asks, plucking at a sleeve and then spreading her hands out.

Todd shakes his head emphatically, then Joe swats him on the arm with a warning expression. “Lesson one, grasshopper. You always leave her hanging when she asks how she looks.”

Candra punches Joe in the shoulder with a wide-eyed, murderous expression. Todd pinches his brow in disagreement.

“Isn’t that just going to leave her angry and self-conscious?”

“Ow,” Joe winces and raises up a finger with a sagely expression, then breaks into laughter as he fends off two more swats from Candra. “That’s exactly the state of mind you want! Ow, secret of true Love! Seriously, ow.”

“I’m gonna phone your mom and tell her to disown you,” Candra snorts, wobbling on her feet and turning to wave at the last arrival.

Rosy and refreshed, Randall joins the circle with a large, looping hug. He is careful not to hit them with his wooden armor, which Todd notes with embarrassment is clearly meant to be secured underneath the outer robe. Besides his armguards and breastplate, Randall is wearing his shin guards and is the only one in the group wearing his shoes.

“Mornin’ K-Town,” Joe grins.

“Vetoed,” Candra clarifies, slurring her words. “Good morning.”

Randall dramatically chops his hands through the air, and a perpetual smile pulls his cheeks up like a chipmunk. “We gonna learn some magic and shit, right? Right?” The big guy bounces little rabbit-hops of excitement.

Todd raises an armguard and tags it against Randall’s. “I’m ready for an adventure, you ready?” He says, uncertain but excited.

“I dunno, I don’t see the pixies yet. I think so,” Joe runs a hand through his hair, then his eyes narrow on Randall’s guards. “What is that stuff, armor? Is that what it was?”

“Todd…” Candra pauses, then groans. “Oh no. You’re both wearing it. Please tell me we don’t need to wear armor today.”

“I just thought it looked badass with my Gi,” admits Randall, blushing.

“You do look badass,” Todd reassures him. “I- I wasn’t sure, I didn’t want to risk it.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Yea, well. How about tell me if Drew’s got his on.”

Somewhat gravely, the four turn looking out across the courtyard. Several people appear to be on the floor just waking up, and traumatically at least one or two were unfortunate enough to have teleported direct from their shower (they’re so old and wet and wrinkly). But past the crowd, the four spot the beard and then the man: Ranger Drew stands at vigilant attention, girded with his armor, expertly secured under his Gi, and his small dinner knife strapped to his arm in a repurposed leather knife sheath.

Joe turns back. “Shit, we need the armor.”

“How can a dude wearing pajamas still look like he can kill you,” Candra grouses disapprovingly.

“It’s no big deal guys,” Randall insists, trying to cheer them up. “Once we start Cultivating and level up we’ll get way stronger in no -” he grinds to a halt. “What?”

Joe and Candra share a concerned look with Todd.

“You didn’t start already?” Todd admonishes.

Randall searches for a joke or a prank and fails to find it.

“Even I got to level two,” Joe shakes his head. “Drips is probably level three by now.”

Todd shakes his head, a midge tickled by high expectations. “You kidding? Three’s harder than two. I would have had to Cultivate all night.”

“Joe’s level two. You’re level two?” Candra wearily croons, then pumps her fists into the air. “Choke on my pubes, nerds. Level three!” She crows.

“You didn’t sleep at all?” Joe chides her, unimpressed. “You can’t mess yourself up like that,” he continues, knocking the wind out of her sails.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Candra glowers, hissing with a vein of real anger. “I’m not gonna fall behind,” she meets Todd’s eyes and adds almost pleadingly.

“You know, every time you level up you need a little less sleep,” he offers diplomatically. Then he gestures in a direction with his chin. “I think the pixies are starting.”

Mollified, trepidatious, thirsty, the four push forward following the collapsing throng and crane their necks upward. Overhead, a smoky crystal is slowly descending; paying it’s back taxes to gravity in pocket change. Only visibly against the empty sky by the reflective gleam of its surface, the crystal is shaped like a cube but squashed in a ring around the middle and pointed like a diamond.

Once it nearly reaches the ground, the three auroral trails of the pixies streak down from an indeterminate point in the welkin void. Violet, Gold, and Rose they ring into formation around the crystal, orbiting it like lazy satellites and facing outward to the congregation.

“Well met my friends,” Aefore’s voice booms through the space. “My sisters and I hope and trust that your evening was restful.”

“My bed sucked!” Cries out a faraway voice, before the sound of everything but the pixies cuts out. Amethyst and aglow, Ciforre nods brusquely to her sister.

“I am afraid we are on a schedule,” the star gold warrior curtly explains. “Yesterday we revealed a glimpse to you, a taste of what is possible through [The System].” Aefore indicates generously to the opaline crystal, stopped a few inches from the ground. “Today, you will make your first true decision along the pathway to your immortal Dao.”

Ciforre drifts forward and pointedly adjusts her glasses. “Today,” she brags, “you will select what is called a [Skill].” She raises a palm, and a sudden billowing plume of flame rises from it with a flash of light, heat and pressure. She arches an eyebrow. “It’s time to learn your first magical ability.”