The Hidden in Myth

Vern stepped out of the Patriarch Hall, leaving behind the cold grandeur of stone, ancestral judgment, and silent power. The heavy doors closed behind him with a quiet thud, muffled by the breeze that met him beyond the steps.

Before him stretched the Great Garden of the Wind Blossom Clan — a living tapestry of color, fragrance, and life.

It was vast, almost like a world of its own nestled within the heart of the clan's estate. The winding stone paths disappeared behind lush hedges and flowering canopies, while ancient trees stood like patient sentinels, their leaves whispering secrets in the wind.

The scent of blooming moon orchids, flame petal lotuses, and spirit thyme filled the air — a fragrance that both awakened the senses and soothed the spirit.

Vern walked slowly, letting the tension from the Patriarch Hall melt away with each step. The rustle of wind through the trees was different here — softer, kinder. It did not press against him like judgment. It simply passed by, as if acknowledging him without question.

In the heart of the garden lay a pond — circular, still, and clear as glass. Its surface mirrored the drifting clouds above, and within its waters bloomed dozens of aquatic flowers: snow-white lilies, shimmering blue koi lotuses, and soft-pink feather blooms whose petals danced gently even without wind.

Vern stood at the edge of the pond, gazing into its stillness.

He saw his reflection.

Young. Too young.

But behind those eyes was the weight of lifetimes — of battlefields, betrayals, of silence and wandering, of fire and cold.

A dragonfly skimmed across the water, then vanished into the tall reeds.

"Seven hundred years..." he murmured.

So much had changed in the world, yet here, this place — this garden — felt timeless. Untouched.

He crouched beside the pond, brushing a fallen blossom from the water's edge. His fingers paused mid-motion as he saw a ripple distort his reflection.

Not from the water.

From within.

"Essence," he whispered to himself.

He could feel it again — faint, whispering, moving beneath his skin like threads awakening. And yet… no awakened core. No formal resonance. Not yet.

But the seed was there.

He stared deeper into the pond, not at his reflection, but through it — as if the water itself could tell him something he had forgotten, or was about to remember.

"I'll begin again," he said softly.

The garden said nothing.

But it listened.

Vern settled beneath a towering crimson-leaf tree, its long branches drooping like the arms of an old guardian embracing the wind. The roots of the tree curled over stone and soil, and the fragrance of the garden mingled with the distant hum of life — dragonflies, rustling leaves, the soft splash of a fish in the pond.

He sat cross-legged, the hem of his light robe fluttering gently around him.

His back straight.

His eyes half-closed.

The world around him blurred, and for the first time since his return, there was silence — not the threatening silence of the Lost Valley, but a silence that held space.

A space to breathe.

To remember.

To begin.

To the passing eye, he looked like a wandering sage, one who had endured storms, tasted solitude, and seen the depths of the world — a youth in body, but an elder in essence.

His breath slowed.

He reached inward.

Vern sat motionless beneath the tree, the soft rustling of garden leaves fading into a quiet hush.

The world outside grew distant.

Inside, something deeper he can feel it. Essence

He breathed in… and his consciousness sank inward.

What he saw was not the red of closed eyelids, nor the shadows of his mind —

But a vision far more profound.

A canvas of light and darkness, the blueprint of the human vessel.

The human body… the human body was a temple of threads and fire and the Essence — it is the silent breath of all existence. It dwells in the falling of a leaf, the crackle of fire, the stillness of stone, and the whisper of the wind. It is the unseen rhythm that binds the universe, pulsing through both matter and soul.

Every living being, every speck of creation, is touched by essence. But within the human form, essence takes on a deeper role — not merely as a presence, but as a path.

The body is a temple of essence. Hidden within are thousands of tiny essence points, like stars scattered across a vast night sky. These points are not random; they are the micro-pillars of life, quietly absorbing and storing essence from the world around us. Yet, these small points alone are not enough. Their potential lies dormant — waiting to be awakened, aligned, and empowered.

At the heart of this web lie six great essence points, deeper, denser, and more profound than the rest. These are the Foundation Nodes, each a wellspring of potential. A martial artist does not merely train the body — they weave a network of essence threads, delicate and flowing like silk, connecting the thousands of minor points to these six grand cores. Through deep cultivation, meditation, and precise control, these essence threads allow the essence to circulate in harmony — forming what is known as the Essence Flow.

Once the threads are awakened and aligned, a true martial path begins — for at each of the six grand essence points, a practitioner may undergo a sacred process known as Node Core Formation. This is not just a physical change but a spiritual one, where the scattered and wild essence is condensed, refined, and crystallized into Node Cores — stable centers of internal power.

But this is only the first layer of mastery.

Beyond flesh and blood, beyond nerves and veins, lies something deeper — the soul. And just as the body holds essence, so too does the soul carry its own hidden essence points. Rare and elusive, these three soul essence points can only be touched when the practitioner's consciousness reaches a heightened realm, where the boundary between mind and spirit dissolves.

To form Node Cores within the soul is to step into the second realm of cultivation — the fusion of spirit and essence. These three Soul Cores mark a martial artist's passage from mortal understanding into the realm of transcendence.

Thus, in total, a complete practitioner may awaken Nine Node Cores — six in the body, and three in the soul. Each core is a pillar, and together, they form a great internal architecture that anchors the martial path.

But such a path is not walked casually. The creation of a Node Core is a sacred act. Each one requires a specific ritual — a blend of breath, intent, movement, and sometimes ancient incantations passed down through lineages. Many clans has their own rituals. No two rituals are exactly the same. Your node core's density, stability and it's essence absorption rate and how much thick and dense essence the node core will be contained it all depends on those rituals.

To cultivate essence is to cultivate life itself — to seek alignment between body, soul, and the great pulse of the universe.

Vern sat still beneath the crimson-leaf tree, but within him, a storm of focus stirred.

His mind, sharpened by decades of experience in his previous life, had already slipped into a state of deep meditation. And there, in that silent world within, he saw it—

A galaxy of glimmering essence points scattered across his inner body like stars.

"So clear…" he murmured inwardly. "As if they've always been waiting for me."

Most martial artists required years — five to ten of harsh physical and mental training — to even sense these points. And even then, the perception was vague, like trying to feel the warmth of a flame across a thick wall.

But for Vern… it was different.

He could see everything.

Every small essence point. Every pulsing glow.

Each one hovered in place like a sleeping firefly, waiting for purpose. Waiting for connection.

He took a slow breath and brought his attention to one.

"They called them Thread Awakening Rituals in my past life," he recalled.

Ceremonial methods — intricate movements, precise breathing patterns, sacred incense, chants passed down by secret sects.

All to awaken a single thread of essence.

But even then, success was not guaranteed.

It required alignment. Timing. Purity of body and clarity of spirit.

"Too slow," Vern thought. "Too dependent."

There was another method.

A dangerous one.

Rare. Forbidden .

Whispered among only the most daring of cultivators.

A method not of harmony — but of force.

"Imagine. Direct. Connect. Burn essence into thread."

Instead of waiting for threads to awaken, you forced the connection — visualizing the lines of power, pushing essence from one point to the next, binding them with sheer will.

It was like forging veins in fire. Painful. Risky. A single mistake could rupture the essence pathways, or worse — shatter the foundation before it even formed.

But it was also…

"The most proficient way."

Vern narrowed his inner vision.

He locked onto a small point in his chest — just beside the heart.

Then, another near the solar plexus.

He concentrated, willing the essence within his lower dantian to rise.

A thin strand of light surged forth from within him — slow, trembling, unstable.

Sweat began to form on his brow.

Pain lanced through his ribs, like threads of fire weaving under his skin.

But he endured it.

"Connect," he whispered to himself, gritting his teeth. "Now."

And suddenly—

Snap.

A blinding pulse of white light raced from one essence point to the next.

The first Essence Thread had been formed.

For a moment, his body convulsed. His breath hitched. The garden around him blurred.

Then silence.

The thread shimmered in his inner vision — glowing faintly, a whisper of success.

Vern opened his eyes. A single bead of blood slid from his nose. His muscles ached. But his smile was calm, proud.

"One thread," he said aloud. "By force."

He looked down at his hands, still trembling slightly. The path ahead would be hard — threading the body took time, pain, and endless precision.

But he had begun.

And unlike others, he knew exactly where he was going.

[Special note: Essence is not simply inner force, nor is it merely a power to be controlled like qi or mana. It is both more subtle and more profound — a microscopic strand of being, resonating in harmony with the fundamental laws of the universe.

From the birth of the cosmos to the falling of a single leaf, essence has always been present. It is not created, not forged — it is. Like light that needs no lantern, essence exists in all things, not as energy to be harnessed but as the very rhythm that life itself follows.

Every living being and non living being contains essence — not as a possession, but as a presence. From the beast in the mountain, to the wise sage in meditation, to the lowliest insect crawling beneath the soil, all life bears essence . It is the invisible echo of the universe that dwells within breath, blood, and bone.

Unlike qi or mana — which are cultivated, refined, and manipulated — essence is aligned with. It is not tamed but resonated with. When a martial artist trains with true devotion, they do not merely build strength — they tune themselves to the hidden rhythm of essence that flows through all things.

Essence manifests in the human body as thousands of tiny essence points, each like a silent star — too small to see, yet too many to count. And among them lie six great points, deep and ancient, where essence naturally gathers in concentrated form. These are the Great Essence Hubs.]