The forge roared in the depths of the tunnel, a steady heartbeat of fire and glyph-light. One by one, the hunters stepped forward, their hands trembling as Adonis placed the first steel weapons into their grasp.

  Spears tipped with iron that gleamed even in the dim torchlight. Curved blades modeled after the warrior-forges of N’Kosu, their edges catching a faint shimmer where psionic heat had tempered them. A crude breastplate, heavy and rough, but strong enough to stop claws that would have shredded hide or bronze.

  Barek took the first spear, weighing it in his scarred hands. He stepped to the stone wall of the tunnel and thrust forward with a roar. The tip punched clean through the rock, splitting it with a crack that echoed through the chamber.

  The hunters gasped. Some dropped to their knees, whispering thanks to whatever gods still lingered in the desert.

  “No more brittle bone,” Barek growled, pulling the spear free. “No more scavenged scraps from Magi corpses. With this, we fight as men again.”

  Adonis stood before them, arms folded, golden flecks burning in his eyes. He let the awe settle over the hunters before he spoke.

  “This is only the beginning. These are not just weapons. They are the foundation of something greater. You think yourselves hunters and herdsmen still—but from this day, you will train as soldiers. You will not kneel to Magi or Mage.”

  Whispers surged through the group. Fear, excitement, disbelief.

  One of the younger hunters stepped forward, holding a curved blade in shaking hands. “With steel like this, we could stand against a patrol…”

  “Not yet,” Adonis cut him off, his voice sharp. “Steel does not make an army. Discipline does. Walls do. And numbers.” He swept his gaze across the gathered faces, letting the words dig in. “A hundred souls can’t build a nation. But this—” he gestured at the steel gleaming in their hands, “—is the first step.”

  The hunters bowed their heads. For the first time, their eyes did not hold only survival. They held hunger.

  ***

  The forge’s heat had barely cooled when Adonis called the chosen hunters into the square. Barek stood at their head, spear of new steel across his shoulders, his scarred chest gleaming with sweat. Around him, a dozen men and women shifted uneasily, weapons in hand. They were strong, seasoned trackers, but none yet soldiers.

  Adonis studied them a long moment, then spoke.

  “You’ve been given sharper blades. That does not make you stronger. Not yet. Steel in weak hands breaks the same as bone. What I give you now—” his eyes glowed faintly, “—will make your hands worthy of steel.”

  He knelt in the sand, motioning for them to follow. Reluctantly, they lowered themselves, steel tips resting across their knees.

  “This,” Adonis said, “is called the Pilot’s Breath.”

  The hunters exchanged confused glances. Adonis ignored them.

  “Inhale, three counts. One, two, three.” He filled his lungs slowly, letting the desert heat sting his nostrils. “Exhale, four counts. One, two, three, four.” His voice was calm, steady. “Again. Together.”

  Their first attempts were sloppy. Some rushed, others struggled to hold. But Barek caught the rhythm, his massive chest rising and falling in time with Adonis’s own. One by one, the others followed, the sound of their breathing syncing into a single cadence.

  “Good,” Adonis said. “Now, feel the Ruah in your chest. Channel it into your lungs, into your tendons. Lock it there. Muscle and air, bound together.” He clenched his fist tight enough that the sand at his feet quivered. “This is the Muscle Lock. It will hold you against exhaustion. It will steady your hand.”

  Sweat beaded across the hunters’ brows. One of the younger men grunted, his arms trembling from the strain.

  “Anchor your mind,” Adonis pressed. “Choose one word, one image. Hold it. Do not let it go.”

  Barek’s jaw tightened. “Cobra,” he growled.

  Others whispered their anchors — “Spear.” “Sun.” “Dove.”

  Adonis smirked faintly, satisfied.

  “Now rise.”

  They obeyed, weapons in hand. Their breathing was in rhythm now, their bodies taut but steady, eyes clearer than before. When Barek swung his spear into the practice dummy, it struck like thunder, splintering the wooden post in half.

  The hunters gasped, staring at their own arms as if they were not their own.

  “This,” Adonis said, voice low, “is not magic. It is discipline. You can fight longer. Strike harder. See sharper. But it will burn you if you are reckless. Remember balance. Wisdom like the Cobra. Innocence like the Dove.”

  The hunters bowed their heads, murmuring thanks. Barek’s eyes burned with something sharper than pride — belief.

  As they dispersed, Adonis stood alone in the sand, watching their forms vanish into the night.

  Vantage’s voice hummed in his mind.

  > Instruction complete. Group cohesion increased. Combat endurance potential: elevated. Remark: efficiency of transmission higher than predicted.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Adonis smirked, folding his arms. “Not bad. But if I’m teaching them…” He looked east, toward the dunes. “…then I’d better keep pulling ahead myself.”

  And with that, he turned toward the tunnels, ready to sink into his own meditation.

  ***

  The forge’s glow faded behind him as Adonis descended deeper into the tunnels. He found a hollow chamber far from the noise of the village — a place where even the Ironbacks’ breathing was muffled. Here, the air was still, heavy with dust.

  He sat cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, and closed his eyes.

  > Initiating meditation protocol, Vantage whispered. Goal: increase psionic particle density. Warning: physical strain will escalate as thresholds are surpassed.

  “Noted,” Adonis murmured. “Begin.”

  The first step was breath. Three counts in, four counts out. The same rhythm he had given the hunters. But here, deeper, the breath wasn’t just air. It was psionic particles, invisible threads swirling through the desert itself.

  He felt them brushing against his skin — faint sparks, like grains of golden sand carried by a hidden wind.

  “Draw them in,” he commanded himself. The particles flowed toward him, slipping through pores, sinking into marrow. His lungs ached, his chest tight, but he kept the rhythm steady.

  One, two, three. Inhale the desert.

  One, two, three, four. Exhale the weakness.

  The pressure grew. His veins burned, muscles trembling as if trying to reject the foreign weight. Sweat rolled down his spine.

  > Particle density: 6,900… 7,100… Vantage’s voice ticked like a metronome in his skull. Approaching new threshold.

  The chamber seemed to shift around him. The walls rippled, and for a moment, he was no longer in the tunnel.

  A vision: golden dunes stretching endless, under a black sky streaked with stars. A great Sphinx stood on the horizon, lion-bodied, falcon-headed, eyes blazing with riddles. Its voice was a chorus: “Balance wisdom and innocence, or be broken.”

  Adonis clenched his fists, forcing himself to hold the particles steady. His bones screamed, his breath shuddered — but he did not break rhythm.

  7,300… 7,500… 7,700.

  At last, the burning eased. The particles settled, weaving into his muscles, lungs, and marrow until the pain dulled into strength.

  He exhaled, long and slow, steam curling from his lips in the cool underground air. His eyes opened — glowing brighter, golden flecks burning sharper than before.

  > Result: Psion Realm, Delta Stage nearing completion. Projection: Omega Stage attainable with continued practice. Abilities stabilizing: Sand constructs, enhanced telekinesis, limited astral perception. Unlock potential: Sandstorm Core.

  Adonis smirked, dragging his hand through the dust. The grains rose obediently, forming a sharp-edged spear before crumbling back to the floor.

  “Better,” he muttered.

  He rose, rolling his shoulders, the air around him humming faintly with psionic tension. If the hunters had gained endurance from the Pilot’s Breath, he had gained weight — more presence, more gravity.

  Vantage’s voice returned, quieter now.

  > Observation: the gap between you and your disciples is widening. Recommendation: continue training them — but ensure they do not fall behind too far. Dependence breeds weakness.

  Adonis chuckled, heading back toward the forge. “Relax. I’m not raising weaklings. I’m raising warriors.”

  And as the Ironbacks bellowed faintly in the dark, the desert seemed to answer.

  ***

  The hunters gathered in the square at dawn, weapons in hand, breath already syncing in the rhythm Adonis had drilled into them. The forge’s steel gleamed faintly in the sun — spears, blades, and a few heavy shields, crude but unyielding.

  Adonis stood before them, golden eyes calm. He drew a long breath, then thrust his hand into the sand.

  The ground shuddered.

  Sand heaved upward, spiraling in thick columns that twisted and hardened until three hulking forms stood at the edge of the square. Each was broad-shouldered, faceless, their bodies sculpted from compacted dunes, limbs thick as tree trunks. They loomed heavy, easily three hundred pounds apiece, their fists grinding like millstones.

  The hunters flinched.

  Adonis’s voice cut across the silence. “Steel means nothing if you can’t wield it under pressure. These are your enemies.” He gestured to the golems. “They will not tire. They will not falter. Fight them until your arms burn, and then fight again.”

  The first golem lurched forward. Barek roared and met it head-on, his new spear striking deep into its chest. Sand spilled out, but the creature did not stop, swinging its massive arm and knocking him back a step. Others surged in — spears stabbing, blades hacking — but the golems pressed relentlessly.

  At first, the hunters stumbled. Blades caught in sand, shields shattered against heavy fists. But their breath began to sync — three in, four out, muscle-locks holding, anchors steady in their minds. Their movements sharpened, strikes growing heavier, dodges tighter.

  Barek drove his spear through one golem’s chest with a roar, shattering its body into collapsing sand. The others fell soon after, the hunters panting, drenched in sweat but standing taller than before.

  Adonis nodded once. “Again.”

  The sand trembled, and new golems rose.

  ***

  By noon, Adonis left them to their training. The elders and villagers watched in awe as the hunters battled endlessly, their steel flashing against the endless tide of summoned foes.

  Adonis walked alone to the edge of the settlement, where the dunes stretched endless. He stood at the perimeter and spread his hands wide.

  The desert answered.

  Sand spiraled upward in a vast arc, rising higher and higher until it towered over the huts. Glyphs flared across the surface as he hardened the grains into sandstone, layer by layer. Slowly, the first wall of the village began to take shape — not just protection, but a statement.

  Children gathered to watch, wide-eyed. The villagers whispered: walls… real walls.

  Adonis’s smirk was faint, but his voice was low, steady. “The desert is ours. And we will build upon it.”

  The wall rose higher, shadows stretching long across the village.

  ***

  The village settled into an uneasy rhythm. Hammering echoed from the forge, the hunters’ shouts rang as they drilled against sand golems, and children gathered near the growing wall to marvel at the fortress rising from the dunes.

  But far above, the desert sky burned.

  Three vast shapes cut across the horizon, their wings spanning wider than rooftops. Each beat of their feathers sent ripples of heat rolling across the dunes, fire trailing in long ribbons through the air.

  They were not Magi cloaked in crimson, nor soldiers with etched armor. These were true Phoenixes — fully transformed, bodies of fire and feather, their cries echoing like war-horns across the desert.

  The lead bird’s plumage burned scarlet and gold, brighter than the rising sun. Its voice carried on the wind:

  “Daughter of Crimson Flame! You cannot hide forever.”

  The villagers looked up in terror as the sky itself seemed to blaze. Elders whispered frantic prayers, mothers dragged children into the tunnels. The hunters gripped their new steel, though even Barek’s scarred hands trembled at the sight.

  In the shadows of the forge, Nyra froze. Her cloak slipped from her shoulders, her eyes burning with dread and fury. “They know,” she whispered. “They know I fled. And they know I never reached the capital.”

  The Phoenixes circled overhead, their fire painting the sand in molten light, searching.

  And for the first time since he arrived in this world, Adonis looked not just at the desert before him, but at the sky above.

  His smirk was faint, sharp. “Then let them come.”

  The Phoenixes screamed, wings blotting the sun.

  The hunt had begun.