Yeven’s words were still humming in Kan’s ears as he headed back to his room after class.

The sword summons power, the talisman awakens power, and medicine creates power.

Kan had never seen it that way. In the eyes of those at the Shrine—and most of those at the Temples as well, judging from the reaction of the apprentices today—the sword was the sole bringer of power. If what Yeven said was true, then the assessment of which path was the strongest would flip entirely. Who didn’t covet the ability to awaken and even create power?

Of course, Yeven wouldn’t approve of such a thought which still focused on “which one brings me more strength”. But Kan had tasted the bitterness of being small and weak, and he wanted none of it ever again.

His steps slowed when he passed the library. Until this moment, he still didn’t fully understand the differences between the Northern and Southern paradigms. Maybe a brush-up on the philosophy of the Temples could answer his questions on where each of the three paths led.

The library was an old building that hadn’t aged well. Narrow window panels sat crooked in their half-rotten frames. Wooden columns in front of the small entrance stood chipped and ash-gray from the sun. Kan ducked his head under the short lintel, blinking to adjust to the dim light inside.

A person crouched behind a half-sized desk by the door, feather pen in his hand, writing furiously. “A Master’s Footwork is all checked out,” he said without looking up. “Come back next week.”

“Um …” Kan cleared his throat. “I’m looking for some texts on the principles of Ichor control. Preferably historical.”

The person lifted his head. “You’re not here for A Master’s Footwork?”

Kan thought he had made himself clear. “No. What is it?”

“Assigned reading this week for Third Stage … Ah, you are only First Stage,” the person raised an eyebrow in interest. “No one ever comes to the library unless there’s an assignment.”

“I’m—”

“I know, I heard you. This way.” The library keeper shoved Kan impatiently up the stairs. “Historical tomes are on the second floor. The architecture of the Temples, flora and fauna of Skyward, lore of the guardian gods …” He made a turn at the top landing and led Kan to a corner where two rickety bookshelves leaned precariously against each other, a disorganized heap of books and scrolls piled on top. “Enjoy,” he grinned and disappeared.

Kan stood in front of the decrepit scene, wordless. He suddenly realized Yeven was right: people should really show more respect for books.

He picked up the first scroll on top and blew off the dust on its surface. Map of Evernight Forest with Annotations. He put it back and unrolled another. History and Culture of the Native Inhabitants of Skyward.

The next ten volumes he went through were similar documents on geography or climate or ancient agriculture. Kan was starting to feel a tinge of disappointment when a small thread-bound paper book caught his eye.

It was buried at the bottom of the shelf, with only its top-left corner peeking out from under the mound of silk and bamboo. A bolded word “Ichor” in extravagant calligraphy was visible. Kan carefully lifted the weight above the book and pulled it out. Ichor and Aura.

He opened it eagerly. “The mastery of Ichor is an art,” it read on the first page. “Each may find his own way through the journey of self-discovery. Only this remains true: the full power of Ichor cannot be achieved without the aid of Aura.”

Kan moved closer to the sunlight slanting in from the narrow windows, flipping slowly through the pages. The sheets were crumpled and yellow, though the text and drawings were still crisp and clear.

The book began with an introduction of Ichor as the power that flows through a person’s body like blood. A familiar concept to Kan, and similar to the teachings of the Shrine. But when it delved into the control and manipulation of such power, the perspective started to differ drastically from Kan’s prior knowledge.

“A shaman gains the ability to wield his Ichor at Second Stage. Some may consider this the breakpoint where a shaman fully awakens his power. Such an understanding, however, is far from the truth. The power of a shaman lies in his ability to use Ichor to call Aura to his aid, which he acquires at Fourth Stage.

“The focus of a shaman’s training, therefore, should not be on the strength of his Ichor, but rather its flexibility and affinity to Aura. His ultimate goal is not to harness maximum power within himself, but rather to command all power in the universe.”

All power in the universe. Such blunt audacity in those words.

Kan leaned back onto the window sill, contemplating what he had just read. Strength was everything that the Shrine ever focused on; here, on the other hand, Ichor was used more as a channel to Aura, and its effectiveness relied on the connection between them. He remembered the word he heard repeatedly from Meizo and Yeven: harmony. Even though each of the three paths approached such ends differently, their aim was the same—to train Ichor’s flexibility and affinity to Aura.

He closed his eyes, bringing his consciousness into the spiritual realm. As a First Stage apprentice, he should be able to sense his Ichor and start to develop rudimentary control over its flow. He sharpened his senses and searched inward, examining every pulse of energy within his body.

The sound of rushing water echoed from beneath. He followed its lead, drifting down into a space dense with mist and dew. A dimly sparkling stream meandered across the bottom of it. It was thin, running slowly and almost trickling in places, but steady.

Kan gazed at it in wonder. Was this his Ichor? He hadn’t expected it to be … so weak.

He didn’t know for sure how to enhance its connection to Aura, so he acted on instinct, lowering his ethereal form. A welcoming sense greeted him as he drew closer to the stream, beckoning and urging like an amicable friend. He reached out his hand and dipped it in.

The water glowed, its sparkles brightening up into a dazzling surge of light. It multiplied under his fingers, gushing as if a gate had just been opened. The thin riverbed widened, and the flow danced and splashed, illuminating every stretch of space it coursed through.

Kan opened his eyes. His body felt light, refreshed, and full of life.

“We are closing soon,” the voice of the library keeper came from across the hall along with his footsteps. “You can check—” he paused when he rounded the corner and saw Kan.

“What book of magic did you read?” he asked, his eyebrow raised again. Then he smiled. “Welcome to mid-level First Stage.”