Shoukei

Shoukei was a terrible student of geomancy. The howling wind and constant drizzle of the scorched plateaus made it hard to focus, but the real problem was trust. Their instructor pointed to a shard of obsidian, half-buried near the skeletal remains of some ancient beast. "Lift it," their voice barely carried over the storm. Shoukei squinted, hands trembling. They felt the energy gather in the chakra stone on their back, but their eyes kept darting to the fog, where phantom dragons writhed and dissipated. Was that a flicker of movement behind the instructor? A trick of the rain? The doubt was a crack in a dam. The energy fizzled, and the rock didn’t budge. The instructor sighed, not with anger, but with weary patience. "The land lies. Your job is not to believe it."