Cultivation is Creation

The familiar landscape greeted me: mountain ranges and deep valleys to the Northwest, the garden quadrant with its sculpted trees to the Northeast, open experimental spaces in the Southeast, and meditation plateaus in the Southwest. At the center stood the Genesis Seed, its roots spreading throughout all four quadrants, anchoring and stabilizing everything.

Under the Genesis Seed's protective branches, hidden away from prying eyes, my suns were tucked away for safekeeping. The red sun sat on one side, glowing dimly as if pouting about being hidden. The blue sun rested on the other side, looking more peaceful about the whole situation. Between them, the baby star gave off its small but bright light.

"Where should we place the Cerulean Vein?" I asked Azure, who manifested beside me in his typical form.

"Logically, it should be positioned in relation to the blue sun," he replied, studying our surroundings thoughtfully. "But we must be careful not to disrupt the balance you've established. The vein will draw power from your blue sun, creating a new energy circulation system."

I considered the options. "The Northeast quadrant seems most appropriate. It's already dedicated to growth and cultivation, and the garden setting aligns well with the Arboreal Spiral's nature affinity."

Azure nodded. "A sound choice. Let's begin."

Creating the Cerulean Vein proved more challenging than I had anticipated.

My first attempt resulted in a rigid, lifeless construct that bore the correct shape but lacked the flowing vitality that characterized true Lightweaver techniques. It was like comparing a photograph of a tree to a living, growing organism.

"You're approaching this from a Skybound perspective," Azure observed. "You're trying to impose the pattern rather than infuse it with meaning."

"From what I've gathered, Lightweavers don't simply create forms, they create significance," Azure said. "The pattern itself is just a vessel. It's the meaning you pour into it that gives it power."

This was fundamentally different from Skybound cultivation, where the precision of the rune's form determined its effectiveness. Lightweavers apparently cared less about technical perfection and more about the spiritual resonance imbued within the structure.

"So rather than just visualizing the pattern..." I began.

"You need to feel what it represents," Azure confirmed. "The Arboreal Spiral isn't just a tree-shaped design, it embodies growth, renewal, connection between earth and sky, the cyclical nature of life."

I took a deep breath and tried again, this time focusing not just on forming the pattern but on infusing it with concepts. I thought about the towering trees of the forest we'd passed through on our journey to the Academy: their ancient strength, their silent wisdom, their constant growth reaching toward the light.

As I channeled blue sun energy into the visualization, I felt a difference immediately. The pattern seemed to accept the energy more readily, almost eagerly drinking in the power and taking shape with less resistance.

But something still wasn't right. The Cerulean Vein flickered unstably, its edges blurring and reforming in an irregular rhythm.

"It's better," Azure commented, "but still lacking something essential."

I dispersed the second attempt, frustrated but determined. "What am I missing?"

"Perhaps intention?" Azure suggested. "Professor Thara mentioned that the Cerulean Vein becomes an integral part of your spiritual anatomy. You're not just creating a tool, you're growing a part of yourself."

That kinda made sense.

For my third attempt, I drew energy from the blue sun, letting it flow through me not as a tool to be wielded but as a medium to be shaped by my understanding. I held the Arboreal Spiral pattern in my mind, but this time I didn't try to construct it, instead, I let my intention for what it would become guide the energy.

Growth. Connection. Transformation. Life emerging from seemingly lifeless matter. The cycle of seasons, of death and rebirth. The way trees communicate through their root systems, sharing resources and information in silent networks beneath the soil.

As I poured these meanings into the forming pattern, something remarkable happened. The Cerulean Vein began to take shape with a fluidity and grace my previous attempts had lacked. The branches of the spiral tree extended with purpose, curving and splitting in perfect harmony with my intention.

"That's it," Azure said softly. "You're infusing it with meaning."

But just as I thought success was within reach, the pattern destabilized again, branches withering and the spiral collapsing in on itself.

"Damn it," I muttered, letting the failed construct dissipate. "What am I still doing wrong?"

I sat in contemplation, reviewing everything Professor Thara had told me about the process. She had emphasized that the Cerulean Vein was personal, unique to each practitioner. Perhaps I was being too academic in my approach, trying to create a perfect copy of the design from the book rather than allowing my own interpretation to emerge.

"Let's take a different approach," I decided. "Rather than copying the pattern exactly, I'll use it as inspiration and allow my own understanding to guide the form."

For my fourth attempt, I closed my eyes and thought about what the Arboreal Spiral meant to me. Not just trees in the abstract, but specific trees that had significance in my journey.

The Ancestor's Tree at the Three-Leaf Clover Sect that once helped me against the Seventh Ancestor. The Star-Catching Tree stretching up to pluck stars from the sky. The Deep Root Tree with its massive underwater tendrils. And Genesis Seed at the center of my inner world, binding everything together.

I thought about how trees were more than just plants, they were bridges between worlds. Roots delving deep into the earth, branches reaching toward the heavens. They were living metaphors for cultivation itself, the endless journey upward while remaining firmly grounded.

As these personal meanings flowed into my visualization, the Cerulean Vein began to take shape once more. But this time, it wasn't merely following the generic pattern from the book, it was evolving, adapting, becoming uniquely mine.

The spiral remained at its core, but the branches formed patterns that reflected my personal journey. They curved with deliberate purpose, each one representing an aspect of growth and transformation that resonated with my understanding of cultivation.

"This is promising," Azure observed as the construct stabilized and began to glow with a steady blue light. "It's holding form and beginning to integrate with your inner world."

I carefully fed more energy into the pattern, watching as it grew more defined, more vibrant. The blue light pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, suggesting a deepening connection between the Cerulean Vein and my physical form.

I continued to infuse meaning into every branch and curve of the pattern, intention flowing through the channels of my visualization. This wasn't just about creating a shape; it was about birthing something with purpose and significance.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Gradually, the Cerulean Vein's light intensified, its form becoming more solid and defined. With each pulse of energy I directed into it, the pattern responded by growing more intricate, more beautiful. Small offshoots appeared along the main branches, like new growth on a living tree.

"It's stabilizing," Azure noted with satisfaction. "The pattern is anchoring itself in your inner world."

With one final surge of concentrated intention, a pure distillation of everything I understood about growth, connection, and transformation, I completed the process.

The Cerulean Vein gave one bright pulse of azure light before settling into a stable, radiant form. It floated in the garden quadrant of my inner world, branches gently swaying as if in a breeze only it could feel.

I approached it cautiously, examining my creation from all angles.

The Arboreal Spiral had become something unique, still recognizable as the pattern I'd selected from the tome, but personalized in countless subtle ways. Most importantly, it felt right. It felt like an extension of myself rather than a foreign object I had constructed.

"Is it... alive?" I asked, noticing how the branches seemed to reach toward me as I circled it.

"In a sense," Azure replied. "Not alive like you or I, but more than merely a pattern of energy. The Cerulean Vein is responsive, it will grow and evolve as your understanding deepens."

I reached out, not physically but with my spiritual perception, and felt a connection establish itself between my consciousness and the floating vein. It was unlike anything I'd experienced with Skybound techniques, less like a tool I could command and more like a part of myself I could communicate with.

"It's done," I said, a mixture of satisfaction and wonder in my voice. "We've successfully created a Cerulean Vein."

Leaving my inner world, I opened my eyes, half-expecting to see Professor Thara waiting, but the pavilion remained empty.

I stretched, working out the stiffness in my limbs. How long had I been meditating? The angle of the blue sun suggested at least two hours had passed, possibly more.

"She's certainly taking her time," I murmured, rising to my feet.

"Perhaps she's forgotten about you entirely," Azure suggested. "You weren't exactly a priority assignment."

I frowned, glancing around the deserted pavilion. "I didn't expect her to just abandon me mid-lesson. What am I supposed to do now? Wait here indefinitely?"

The prospect of sitting alone on this platform for hours didn't appeal to me. I had successfully created my Cerulean Vein, a task that supposedly took days or even weeks for most initiates, but without Professor Thara to verify my progress, I couldn't move forward with my training.

"She did mention having other responsibilities," Azure reminded me. "Perhaps a walk around the academy would be productive while we wait? It would provide an opportunity to familiarize ourselves with the layout."

That seemed reasonable. Better than sitting here doing nothing, at least. And exploring the academy grounds unsupervised might yield valuable information.

"She did say she'd return to check on my progress," I mused. "It would be inconsiderate to simply disappear."

I found a small writing desk at the edge of the pavilion, complete with brushes, ink, and paper, likely used by students to take notes during instruction. I wrote a brief message:

Professor Thara,

I believe I've successfully established my Cerulean Vein. Since you had not returned, I decided to familiarize myself with the Academy grounds. I will return shortly.

-Tomas

I left the meditation platform and made my way back up the path toward the main academy buildings. Without my guide from earlier, I relied on Azure to navigate the complex layout of pavilions, gardens, and walkways.

The academy was even more impressive when explored at leisure. Hidden alcoves revealed stunning views of the valley below. Secluded meditation platforms dotted the mountainside, each designed for specific types of spiritual practice. Small streams of that strange, pattern-forming water flowed everywhere, connecting different areas in ways that seemed both aesthetic and functional.

After walking for about twenty minutes, I spotted a blue-robed Lightweaver tending to a garden of blue flowers. She seemed approachable, older than Professor Thara but lacking the intimidating aura of someone like Elder Sorrin.

"Excuse me," I called politely, approaching with a respectful bow. "I'm looking for Professor Thara. We were in the middle of a lesson when she was called away."

The woman looked up, studying me with mild curiosity. "Ah, you must be the unexpected candidate everyone's talking about. The miller's son with the surprising resonance."

News traveled fast, apparently. I nodded, trying to look appropriately humble. "Yes, that's me. Professor Thara was helping me establish my Cerulean Vein, but she left before I could complete the process."

The woman's eyes widened slightly. "Did she now? That's rather unlike her, dedicated as she is to her teaching duties." She paused, then added with a knowing smile, "Though perhaps not entirely surprising, given her other... preoccupations."

That caught my interest. "Other preoccupations?"

"Her research, of course," the gardener said, returning to her flowers. "The young professor is quite ambitious, always working on some project or another. The higher-ups tolerate it because her results are occasionally useful, though some find her methods... unorthodox."

Interesting. Perhaps there was more to my scatterbrained instructor than I'd initially assumed.

"Would you know where I might find her? Her quarters, perhaps?"

The gardener laughed, a bright, musical sound. "Oh, she's rarely in her quarters. If she's not teaching, she'll be in her laboratory for certain. That's where she spends most of her time."

"And where might I find this laboratory?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The woman pointed toward a small structure nestled against the mountainside, partially obscured by a stand of slender trees with silvery bark. "The lower level of the Experimental Pavilion. Third door on the left. Though I warn you, she doesn't appreciate interruptions when she's working."

I thanked her and headed in the direction she'd indicated.

The Experimental Pavilion was different from the other academy structures I'd seen so far, less ornate, more functional. Its walls were solid stone rather than the usual blend of stone and wood, with fewer windows and more substantial doors.

The lower level was accessed via a short flight of stairs that descended into the mountainside. I counted the doors, one, two, three, and found myself standing before a solid wooden door with a small plaque that read "Professor Thara - Authorized Personnel Only."

I knocked firmly. No response came from within.

"Perhaps she's not here after all," Azure suggested.

I knocked again, slightly harder.

This time, the door moved inward just a fraction, not properly latched, apparently.

I hesitated, hand suspended in mid-air. The sensible course would be to leave and return to the meditation platform. Entering a Lightweaver's private laboratory uninvited was almost certainly against academy rules, possibly even dangerous.

But my curiosity had been piqued. What "unorthodox" research could my seemingly unremarkable instructor be conducting?

"This is unwise," Azure cautioned, sensing my thoughts.

"Just a quick look," I replied silently. "Knowledge is never wasted."

Before I could reconsider, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it softly behind me.

The laboratory was meticulously organized, with each workstation apparently dedicated to a different research area. One held astronomical instruments and star charts; another displayed geological samples with detailed sketches beside each specimen. A third contained what appeared to be medical equipment and diagrams of the human body with blue energy pathways mapped throughout.

But it was the fourth station that drew my attention and sent a chill down my spine.

There, arranged on a long table, were several vine-like structures that looked disturbingly familiar. They resembled miniature versions of Yggy, though these appeared less developed, more like prototypes or experimental models. Some were clearly dormant or possibly failed experiments, while others showed signs of limited mobility, their tendrils twitching occasionally as if dreaming.

"Azure," I whispered inwardly, approaching the table cautiously, "are you seeing this?"

"Indeed," he replied. "The resemblance is... concerning."

I examined the specimens more closely, careful not to touch them.

Unlike Yggy, who had developed a distinct personality and intelligence, these vine structures seemed rudimentary, basic frameworks rather than fully realized sentient beings. Still, the similarity in their fundamental design was unmistakable.

Beside the table sat a research journal, open to a page filled with notes and diagrams. The handwriting was neat but rushed, with frequent annotations and corrections squeezed into the margins. I leaned closer, trying to decipher the content without disturbing anything.

The visible page contained references to "symbiotic integration," "autonomous growth patterns," and "consciousness transference experiments", phrases that seemed alarmingly similar to Elder Molric's research at the Red Sun Academy.

"What is Professor Thara's connection to Elder Molric?" I murmured, more to myself than to Azure. "These can't be coincidental similarities."

I carefully flipped back a page in the journal, revealing more detailed notes about failed experiments and potential modifications. The terminology used suggested a deep understanding of both botanical and spiritual principles, again, reminiscent of Elder Molric's specialized knowledge.

"Could she be working with him?" I speculated. "Or maybe he just has counterparts here with similar research interests?"

Before I could investigate further, the sound of approaching footsteps from an adjoining room froze me in place. I straightened quickly, stepping away from the research table, but it was too late to retreat to the door without being seen.

I turned toward the sound just as Professor Thara emerged from a side chamber, her arms filled with scrolls and her spectacles slightly askew. She stopped abruptly upon seeing me, her eyes widening with shock and then narrowing with suspicion.

"Tomas? What are you doing in my laboratory?"