Days bled into each other within the seamless, sterile environment of the Deep Observation Cell. The cool, neutral light emanating from the walls never wavered, offering no distinction between the Umbralwood's deep cycles of fungal glow and gloom.
Time became a subjective measure, marked only by Elmsa's periodic arrivals with nutrient paste and water, brief Healer checks conducted wordlessly through shimmering diagnostic mana fields projected from the corridor and Riven's own slow return from the brink.
The bone-deep exhaustion gradually receded, replaced by a restless energy. He consumed the bland nutrient paste dutifully now, recognizing the pragmatic need to restore his physical reserves.
Following Elmsa's careful instructions, he began attempting basic internal cycling exercises – simple meditative techniques common across many Paths, designed to circulate nascent essence and gently absorb ambient mana.
At first, there was nothing. Just the echoing void where his usually turbulent power resided. But after several days of persistent, focused effort, he felt the first flicker. Not within his core, but within the Marks themselves.
A faint, thread-like warmth traced the star-scarred patterns on his arms. He pushed his awareness towards it, cautiously. The Marks remained visually dark, and inert, but the feeling of connection, however tenuous, was returning. It wasn't the familiar chaotic thrum; it felt different – quieter, deeper, almost… hesitant.
'Not gone then. It's just... sleeping?' The relief was quickly followed by apprehension. What would it be like when it fully reawakened? Would the backlash at the Crags have changed its nature? Or merely taught it to hide its chaos more effectively?
He spent hours replaying the memory of the major sky event, specifically the moment he had opened himself to the resonance, and channelled it. The overwhelming flood of sensation – the vastness, the sorrow, the power, the connection – contrasted sharply with the agonizing severance that followed.
What had he touched? And what had been torn away when he collapsed? He remembered the clear harmonic, the feeling of descent, the warning. It felt less like random energy and more like fragmented communication, a message relayed through a storm. But from what? The question gnawed at him. The Elders offered no interpretation beyond 'primordial resonance' and 'caution'.
Elmsa visited him regularly, her presence brought a complex mix of familiar guidance and wary observation. Her aura felt steady, and controlled, but Riven sensed an undercurrent of tension she didn't show outwardly. Their conversations were brief and focused on his recovery status.
"Any change in the mana field?" she asked during one visit, her analytical gaze scanning his inert Marks.
"A faint warmth returning," Riven reported neutrally. "No active flow detected during cycling exercises yet."
"The Healers concur," Elmsa nodded, consulting a small data crystal she carried. "Your baseline vitality is returning to normal parameters. The essence signature remains extremely low but shows a marginal increase." She paused. "Elder Rowan sends his word: maintain passive recovery. No strenuous cycling. No attempts to actively draw Mana or stimulate the Marks. Patience."
Riven chafed inwardly at the restrictions but merely nodded. He knew protesting was pointless; he was effectively a prisoner, deemed too dangerous to manage his own recovery freely. "Did Rowan offer any analysis of the resonance pattern I sketched?"
Elmsa hesitated for a fraction of a second. "They confirmed it matches no known celestial, geological, or biological energy signature in the archives, including fragmented pre-Dimming records. It is… unique. They are cross-referencing it with deep-layer Root echoes, but have found no correlation thus far." She offered him a small, sealed scroll. "Elder Rowan suggested this might aid your recovery meditations. Basic principles of energy harmony and stabilization."
Riven took the scroll later, recognizing it as the rudimentary text used for Nascent or Tethered Path initiates. An insultingly simple text, yet perhaps a test of his compliance, or a subtle attempt to impose known structures onto his unknown power.
He skimmed it, finding the concepts of balance and flow almost laughably inapplicable to the storm within him, yet the act of reading, of focusing on something structured, was...good to say a small anchor.
It was during one of these quiet periods, while Riven was attempting a simple breathing exercise described in the scroll, that something new occurred. He had placed the ironwood charm on the pallet beside him – Elmsa hadn't confiscated it, perhaps deeming it harmless or even useful after his correlation report. As he focused on his breath, trying to feel the faint warmth in his Marks, he let his fingers rest absently on the charm's rough surface.
Suddenly, one specific, complex node within the Mark pattern on that hand pulsed with a flicker of distinct silver light, just for an instant. It wasn't the chaotic surge from before; it was a single, controlled spark, directly beneath his fingers touching the charm. Startled, he pulled his hand away. The flicker vanished. He cautiously touched the charm again. Nothing. He tried focusing his will, cycling his barely-there Essence. Still nothing.
'What triggered that?' He replayed the moment mentally. It happened when he was breathing deeply, focused on stillness, and touching the charm. He tried again, replicating the conditions: slow breath, mental calm, fingers resting lightly on the wood. Flicker! The same node sparked silver again, brief but undeniable.
But seeing it happen again his mind raced. The charm wasn't just passively grounding; it was acting as a catalyst or focus under specific conditions.
Did the residual human emotion within it resonate with a particular frequency his Essence recognized? Did its mundane nature provide a necessary contrast or anchor for his chaotic power to momentarily find coherence? This was the first time he had seemingly caused a controlled reaction, however small, since the Crags.
He didn't report it to Elmsa immediately. This felt different. This felt like his discovery, a potential key, however small, to understanding the lockbox of his own power. He needed to explore it himself, cautiously, secretly. The desire for understanding burned brighter, fueled now by a tangible clue instead of just overwhelming resonance.
When Elmsa next visited, Riven reported only steady, slow recovery and faint warmth in the Marks. He asked no probing questions and showed no frustration. He simply requested more scrolls on basic mana theory and energy principles, citing Elder Rowan's suggestion. Elmsa agreed, perhaps relieved by his apparent compliance, though her watchful gaze lingered.
Alone again, Riven looked at the dark, inert Marks covering his arms, then at the simple wooden charm resting on the pallet. The cell felt less like a cage now, and more like a laboratory.
The Elders wanted passive observation? Fine. He would observe. He would observe the interplay between this unknown chaotic power within him, the echoes of the singing sky, and the unexpected influence of a simple piece of wood carved by a fearful human hand.
Rivan finally understood it; The path to controlling his power, and understanding his origin, might not lie in the Enclave's structured Paths or the Elders' guarded knowledge, but within these subtle, secret resonances. His confinement continued, but Riven felt a renewed sense of purpose, a clandestine exploration beginning within the heart of his own mystery.
The long watch had yielded its first secret echo.