Damian felt this phenomenon pressing against his skin, and he watched with enhanced perception as the misty Mana floated toward both him and Uncle Adam.
But for Uncle Adam, even more was flowing in.
The old warrior did not even seem to realize what was happening. He was lost in this battle, lost in the joy of sparring with his Young Lugal after eight years of protecting a boy who could not fight back. Lost in the dance that they had created together in this clearing on the slopes of the Roaring Stone Mountain.
Waves of blue misty Mana flowed into him in torrents.
The air around Uncle Adam began to feel heavier, weighted with power that pressed against Damian’s senses. The old warrior’s taut muscles began to shine with greater intensity, the tendrils of Mana beneath his skin growing brighter and more defined.
And he fought with even greater fervor.
Damian saw the tendrils of Mana coursing over Uncle Adam’s skin get thicker and thicker with each passing moment. Even in this heightened state where everything seemed to move in slow motion, the old warrior’s spear became faster and faster. The weapon blurred through patterns that grew more complex, more demanding, more beautiful in their lethality.
But the blue misty Mana also entered Damian.
Since it was much milder, denser, and purer than the normal tendrils of Mana he had forced into himself earlier, Damian allowed it to flow freely. It seeped into his flesh without resistance. It settled into his bones without strain. It merged with his blood without burning. It touched his marrow without rupturing. It embraced his organs without overwhelming them.
The Ancestral Veil was gentle where raw Mana was violent.
Even though he still felt a bit tired mentally from that invisible muscle, the fatigue from speaking the Primordial Tongue, that tiredness seemed to be depleting rapidly in this heightened state of battle. The misty blue Mana filled him and restored him simultaneously, nourishing something beyond mere flesh.
And that beat.
Oh, he could feel that beat getting stronger each passing second.
DUM!
DUM!
DUM!
His heart pounded with increasing intensity, each pulse sending waves of power through his newly awakened systems. The sound resonated outward, joining with the rhythm of the dance.
The dance continued.
Blue mist gathered in greater and greater concentrations, until the clearing seemed to exist in a different realm entirely. The trees surrounding them glowed with reflected power. The moss beneath their feet pulsed with light that matched Damian’s heartbeat. The very stones seemed to hum with ancient energy.
And the steps that Damian and Uncle Adam made on those stones acted as if their feet were beating on drums.
DUM!
Uncle Adam’s foot planted as he launched a thrust.
DUM!
Damian’s foot shifted as he twisted away.
DUM!
DUM!
DUM!
The rhythm built upon itself, each impact sending vibrations through the Mana-saturated ground and stone.
These were the glorious Lands of Stone, and they now danced upon stones!
The sound traveled outward, carried by currents of power that flowed down the mountainside like invisible rivers.
The Roaring Stone Mountain itself seemed to respond.
A deep, resonant groan echoed from somewhere far above, the mountain’s eternal voice joining their percussion. The perpetual purple mist at the peak pulsed brighter for a moment, acknowledging what was occurring on its lower slopes.
And then...utter ridiculousness unfolded.
From the underbrush emerged a Stoneback Lizard, its rocky hide gleaming with absorbed Mana. It settled at the edge of the clearing, its ancient eyes fixed upon the dancing figures with an intelligence that seemed far deeper than any beast should possess.
From behind a tree appeared a Mist Hare, its translucent fur shimmering as it watched with ears perked forward. It did not flee as it should have, as any prey animal should have when predators fought nearby.
Crystal Beetles crawled from the moss in shimmering waves, their jeweled carapaces catching the blue light of the Ancestral Veil. They formed patterns at the periphery of the clearing, geometric arrangements that seemed almost deliberate.
From higher up the slope, larger shapes emerged.
A Ridge Stalker, one of the predators of the mid-slopes, descended to the edge of the light. Its muscular body was built for killing, yet it sat with the patience of a creature attending something sacred. Its eyes reflected the dancing figures, and it made no move to hunt or flee.
A Violet Serpent coiled around a branch overhead, its scales pulsing with the Mana-infused venom that made it so dangerous. Yet it watched with the stillness of meditation, its forked tongue tasting the power-laden air.
More creatures gathered.
Beasts that should have been enemies sat side by side. Predators ignored prey. Prey showed no fear of predators. They formed a circle around the clearing, dozens of Mana-touched creatures drawn by the phenomenon occurring at its center.
The scene felt grand and archaic and mythic.
As if this was not merely a spar but a ritual. As if the mountain itself had called its children to witness something that had not occurred in some time. As if the Ancestors truly had gathered, wearing the forms of the beasts that dwelt in their sacred places.
DUM!
DUM!
DUM!
The drums of feet on stone continued their rhythm.
The Ancestral Veil thickened until breathing felt like drinking light.
Uncle Adam and Damian moved through each other’s space like partners in a dance older than memory, the spear and the empty hands weaving patterns that told a story without words.
Minutes passed.
The beasts watched.
The mountain groaned.
The mist swirled.
And then, in the middle of the battle, Damian felt something different.
Uncle Adam’s latest strike came with familiar ferocity, the spear sweeping toward Damian’s midsection with enough force to bisect an ordinary man. Damian evaded with the same fluid grace he had been demonstrating throughout the dance, his body shifting just enough to let the weapon pass harmlessly by.
But as Uncle Adam followed through on the strike, something happened.
POP!
The sound was sharp and clear, cutting through the rhythm of their dance like a crack of lightning.
POP! POP! POP!
More sounds followed, emanating from Uncle Adam’s body. His shoulders. His spine. His hips. His knees.
A swirl of Mana and misty Ancestral Veil converged on the old warrior’s form, drawn to him with sudden, overwhelming intensity. The blue energy wrapped around him like a cocoon, sinking into his flesh and reaching for something deeper.
His bones!
Uncle Adam became still, frozen in the follow-through of his strike with an expression of profound shock on his weathered face.
Popping bones.
Damian recognized the sound immediately.
It was the mark of entry to Bone Tempering. The moment when Mana penetrated beyond the flesh and began to transform the skeleton itself. The moment when a Warrior crossed the threshold from the First Circle to the Second, when their foundation deepened and their potential expanded.
Or really, for Uncle Adam, it was returning to Bone Tempering.
The old warrior had been at the Second Circle once, years ago. Before the running. Before the hiding. Before the accumulated injuries and the constant strain of protecting a broken Lugal had worn away at his cultivation until he had fallen back to the peak of Flesh Awakening.
But now, bathed in the Ancestral Veil that their dance had summoned, surrounded by the beasts of the mountain who had gathered to witness, Uncle Adam was reclaiming what he had lost!
His body glowed with concentrated power.
His bones sang with energy that was settling into them permanently.
And the beasts around them did not move, did not breathe, did not blink.
They watched, and they witnessed.
Because in the Lands of Stone, oddities and wonders were many, but the eyes and chance to observe them were few!