The paranoia lingered long after they put significant distance between themselves and the Undermarket fringe. Every flicker of movement in the shadows, every distant clang in the tunnels, felt like a potential threat. Rhys pushed them hard, navigating through a maze of derelict substructures and flooded service corridors until he found a place that felt marginally secure – a heavily reinforced concrete bunker section deep within the industrial ruins, likely part of some forgotten military or corporate installation. The single entrance was a massive, pressure-sealed door, partially jammed open but defensible.
They spent half a cycle securing the bunker. Boulder used his strength and pry bar to wedge the heavy door further shut, reinforcing it with scavenged metal beams. Rhys used his Echo Sense to meticulously scan the surrounding area, confirming no immediate hostile signatures and identifying potential structural weaknesses or secondary access points (which they then blocked). Only when satisfied with their temporary fortress did Rhys allow himself to focus on the prize: the Crimson Root Powder.
He laid out his few supplies on the cold concrete floor: the pouch of fiery powder, his water flask, a small metal dish, and Kaelen's charcoal diagrams depicting the Organ Tempering technique. This process felt far more significant, more dangerous, than the Meridian Dredging. Dredging cleared pathways; Tempering involved directly infusing volatile energy into the core of his physical being.
Following Kaelen's intricate instructions, Rhys measured out a precise amount of the Crimson Root Powder into the dish. He added a few drops of carefully filtered water, then channeled a fine thread of his own Aether into the mixture. The powder reacted instantly, dissolving into a thick paste that pulsed with a vibrant, almost living crimson light. The air around it grew noticeably warmer, charged with potent, vital energy. Handling it required focus; even indirect contact made his fingertips tingle with heat.
He stripped to the waist, the cool bunker air raising goosebumps on his skin. Referencing the diagrams again, he carefully applied the glowing paste over key areas of his torso – his chest near the heart and lungs, his abdomen over the liver and digestive organs. The paste felt intensely hot against his skin, a penetrating heat that bypassed surface sensation and seemed to soak directly into the tissues beneath.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, he settled into the specific meditative posture Kaelen had prescribed – upright, stable, designed to facilitate deep internal circulation. He began the breathing pattern: long, slow inhalations, holding the breath while circulating Aether, followed by equally slow exhalations. The core of the technique was guiding his Aether – infused now with the energy radiating from the Crimson Root paste – not just around his vital organs, but through their very substance, gently but persistently.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn't the sharp, scraping pain of Meridian Dredging. This was a deep, pervasive, almost overwhelming internal pressure and heat. He felt his heart pulsing not just with blood, but with Aether, each beat stronger, resonating with the Crimson Root's fire. His lungs seemed to expand more fully, drawing in not just air but ambient energy, the catalyst amplifying their function. He could feel impurities being burned away within his liver, a sensation like submerged embers flaring briefly before being extinguished.
Maintaining control was paramount. The fiery energy of the Crimson Root wanted to surge, to overwhelm. His prior practice with three-element balance proved invaluable. He instinctively drew upon his Water and Air affinities, not projecting them outwards, but using their internal resonance to moderate the Crimson Root's intensity, preventing the heat from becoming damaging, keeping the energy flowing smoothly rather than erupting. The shard in his pouch pulsed warmth against his skin, a steady beat synchronizing with his heart, aiding the purification process, absorbing excess volatility. The Weaver Slate nearby hummed, its resonance subtly intertwining with the complex energies swirling within him.
The process was utterly draining, demanding constant mental focus and fine Aether control for what felt like an eternity. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto the concrete floor, sizzling faintly where it landed near the applied paste. He pushed through waves of exhaustion, driven by the tangible feeling of transformation occurring deep within him.
When the crimson glow of the paste finally faded, the fiery energy absorbed or dissipated, Rhys slowly relaxed his posture, slumping forward, gasping for breath. He felt scoured clean from the inside out, exhausted to his core, but also… fundamentally stronger.
He took a deep breath. It filled his lungs more completely than ever before, easily, efficiently. His heartbeat was a slow, powerful drum against his ribs, steady and strong. Aches and pains from previous exertions felt distant, muted. He channeled his Aether; the flow from his dantian was noticeably faster, more powerful, yet easier to control. His Aether Pool didn't feel significantly larger, but its connection to his physical body was profoundly deeper. It was less like energy stored within him, and more like his very tissues were now saturated with potential, his flesh and blood integrated with the flow of Aether. He suspected his recovery rate from Aether expenditure would be significantly improved.
He pushed himself to his feet. He felt lighter, quicker. He threw a test punch at the air – faster, sharper. He performed a quick series of evasive movements – more fluid, better balance. He gathered a small amount of Aether and formed an Air Weaving gust, directing it at a loose pebble across the bunker. The gust was visibly stronger, more focused, knocking the pebble several meters, and the Aether cost felt fractionally, but noticeably, less than before the tempering.
It wasn't a sudden leap to immense power, but a crucial reinforcement of the foundation. The 'cracked cup' Kaelen spoke of felt stronger, thicker, capable of holding more without shattering. The path to higher levels of Aetherium Weaving felt slightly less daunting, his own body less of an immediate constraint.
The dramatic results fueled his determination. Moonpetal Dew. The final catalyst. It was no longer just a goal; it felt like an absolute necessity. With it, he could complete this foundational stage, create a truly resilient vessel capable of withstanding the stresses and dangers of the Shattered Path.
Feeling the enhanced vitality coursing through him, the sharper clarity of his senses, Rhys reached out with his Echo Sense, pushing it further than he ever had before. He ignored the immediate clutter of the industrial ruins, extending his perception outwards, kilometers away, searching not for threats, but for tell-tale energy signatures. Rare herbs, unique environmental niches, anything anomalous.
His sense swept across vast tracts of decay, ruin, and faint, chaotic life signs. Then, it brushed against something different. Several kilometers to the northeast, towards a sector known vaguely as the 'Greenhouse Belt' ruins, he detected a faint but complex Aether signature unlike anything he'd sensed before. It wasn't the simple, aggressive energy of mutated fungi or the chaotic buzz of vermin. This felt intricate, layered, vital, resonating with aspects of Wood and Water, but with an undercurrent of something else… something pure, almost luminescent. Could it be related to the Moonpetal Dew? The signature felt unique, botanical, and powerful. It was the strongest lead he had.