Children of Terra

~The view within the room~ ~Shows the first signs of Spring~ ~Underneath the snows of Winter~ ~Vykan, condition stable~       Change was the order of the day.  No longer did Vykan's health deteriorate.  The signs of withering halted.  Make no mistake of them, it was stagnation.  A flattening of trajectory.  A halt.  Time, in its incessant trawling, revealed in the end Vykan was not to get better -- even as it allowed the first unfurling of life beyond the window lip.  Considering his recent memories though, he was thankful in the end.  Doubtless it was that day.  Whatever it was she had done for him.        Vykan lay in the soft silken sheets, eyes cast aside to the new morning greeting in now-familiar rhythm.  The snow sheets had retreated to fortresses, to strongholds in tree shadows.  As wherever the sun scoured, just a little more was taken by the season each pass of day.  It made for a curious blend of shine caps and matte ground.  A land reawakening; but, the view was not enough to distract him.  It was not enough to drown out the other change.        He had fallen.  That oh-so-typical emotion the experienced know the clutches of.  The twangs of the heart.  The desire to see just a moment longer.  A certain what-if that defies all higher order reason.  Closing his eyes of the outside view, Vykan hummed to himself with a slow exhale.  Love.  Bitter love.  In his meditation, he felt the way even the thought cast his limbs down, made the heart heavy under new burdens.  It was diverting energies away from his recovery.  But that's the curious thing about love.  Vykan searched his soul high and low.  He found he didn't much care whichever way.        A knock upon the room door drew him alert.  A moment afterward in walked the source of all the change within Vykan:  Gyeoul-Ah.  Compared to the day they first met, she had allowed her braided hair more loose, errant strings from the form.  From her hands, she maintained a training regimen of some kind.  Her attire was thick to keep the cold out -- something of a contention between the two -- Vykan insisting he felt not the stings of cold much, when he had the energy.  Regardless, as he cast his gaze upward, he noted the most curious change in her.        Her eyes.  Underneath the both were mocha-dark pits.  It made him bitter at the sight of her placating smiles.  Signs like that tend to be revealing of the other halves of truth.  And she was smiling now.  Vykan smiled as he could back, watching as she went about her routine; but he allowed his mind to wander.  I still don't understand you, Gyeoul-Ah.  It is clear at least you have a strong internal sense of duty.  I don't think you've missed a single day of this.  He relaxed much like a cat as she exchanged sheets.  These conditions build a frustration in me.  Circumstances keep me from acting as I wish, chains that weigh upon even poor you.  He closed his eyes at the most bitter part of the ritual:  her swapping his robes anew.        Once she left to wherever the linens go for cleaning, Vykan allowed a new sigh out.  He returned his gaze back outside, at the sights of birds chasing the flying bugs in cycles and errant swirls.  With midmorning heat returning, sunlit patches of snow shimmered reflections from melts and shifting angles.  Still not enough to calm.  His disquiet was for one more reason.  A new addition to the ritual:  now that Doctor Moyong had seen the Stygian, it was insisted that Vykan and Gyeoul perform dual-cultivation to untangle the messy knot of his internal energy.  But it really meant she had to return and be near him for insufferable periods of time, holding hands.        Vykan had to close his eyes for tempering.  Not that it was all bad.  He was being cunty for so little cause.  After all, Moyong did offer some good advice as well, such as the food situation.  That one was interesting to Vykan; him reliving the memory.  Gyeoul-Ah had been concerned at the fact Vykan abstained from food, obviously connecting his withered state to such.  After discussing with Moyong, and extended observation, it was posited that the rich Yin sustained Vykan enough to withhold outside food.  There were plenty of examples high level cultivation allowing for this very thing.  And so, resolved.        Then there was the whole cultivation thing to begin with.  Vykan had no fucking idea what the hell that was.  A shock to both Moyong and Gyeoul-Ah, but time smoothed that over.  All these things together?  Hence the dual-cultivation method.  The concept at face value made sense, up to the part physical contact had to be maintained between the cultivators.  Vykan felt a pit in his stomach remembering this part.  Because it also made sense from the explanations, yet the childish squeams continued.        It was necessity, Vykan reminded himself.  The problem was an internal one, of course it required physical contact.  Just as a master overlooks the apprentice in craft, so too must the senior of cultivation look within to the workings of soul manipulation.  Obviously, Vykan thought.  So why do the emotions rise up, instead of quiet down?  Love?  That was part of it, begrudgingly.  Part.  Vykan thought of the else.  What exactly, is it Gyeoul-Ah sees within?  How far can she peer into where I can't?        Another knock on the door signaled the beginning of cultivation.  Vykan watched in the bed the way she padded over, sitting beside him, offering her hand.  Never at her pace.  She always waits for mine.  He recalled what they covered so far.  Focus within.  Since he had the font already, he needed not draw more Qi.  Focus the portent in himself.  Perceive the shape of the soul, the body.  Suffuse in all of it energy.  Vykan thought of what connected himself to Gyeoul-Ah.  The nerves within the arm, the tendons, muscles, bones, blood.  The image of Stygian murk coursing in his veins soured his mood, but he yet focused.  After calming of the lesson, he reached out with closed eyes for her hand.        Her hand pulsed in that burning warmth.  It sent shocks down the length of his arm, that point of connection.  Vykan detected the inner movements now.  He could perceive the something, but it was formless; felt, but not seen.  He gasped in a shallow breath, letting it out in discomfort.  Vykan had to grit his teeth when her other hand came over the back of his.        Gyeoul-Ah's soft voice sounded out.  It did not echo even once.  "Good.  You learn.  In a traditional method, a cultivator must draw in enough energy to start.  Just as a snowball fizzles out when not rolled large enough.  But we cannot simply skip over the first stage.  Your energy must be straightened out, calmed, purified."  She squeezed his hand in a way that forced him to look back.  "Understood, Vykan."        He was fairly certain she meant the energy.  But her fixed gaze made him squirm a moment before looking down.  "So we must."        Morning had left the day to itself as the cultivation continued.  The view today was blue skies and clear horizons.  Vykan was waiting for a reference point on the distant mountain peaks, so he could gauge the rate of snow melt.  From sidelong, he heard her speak.  "Why is it you are here, Vykan?"        He looked to her in a moment of surprise, noting the firmness behind the eyes.  The view reflected in them in a way . . . he shook his head slightly, with a small cough.  Why, was he here?  She was on the verge of saying something when he finally elaborated.  "I made a promise.  The kind you don't simply back out on."        She looked off then.  Her hands never left his.  Gyeoul-Ah spoke while still looking away.  "A promise is the reason of another.  I ask why you are here?"        "What?"  His thoughts were completely stifled.        "Your motivation, little tadpole.  Whatever else would I mean?"        If it weren't for the sounds from outside, the silence would suffocate.  "Tadpole?"        Gyeoul-Ah looked directly at him before answering.  "A small and helpless thing, trapped in a pond full of lurking wonders.  Only protection from predators and the time to develop, will the tadpole grow into a singing frog.  For, sitting atop a lily pad, at the moon overhead.  All alone."  She looked away again, falling into silence.  "Forgive me if I - "        Vykan was able to chuckle, squeezing as he could her hand.  "No, that was, fine.  I was simply reminded of story I read once.  Of home."  Seeing her shift to listening mode, he continued.  "It is a story of the sounds of wind, within the willows.  Focusing on the simple joys of life, unabashed and unashamed to only be.  How freeing life is for the mole in his home, the river rat upon the eddies and banks, the otter and badger in their elements."  He lapsed into silence, thinking of what her story really reminded him of.  "Your imagery, intended or not, was a compliment to me.  One of the characters in the story is the Toad, of Toad Hall.  Far better to be a frog?"        A crack.  As soon as he asked the question, she spasmed however briefly in his hand.  She never replied.        Vykan settled in the bed, returning to focus outside.  By now, the shadows had switched off, marching along in the new direction of afternoon.  The movements of small animals could be seen within canopy shadows.  Yet, there was something missing . . . ah, he remembered.  "You asked me my motivation.  I have none.  I made long ago promises, that will take a lifetime to honor, and so I am here.  As errant as a leaf in wind, dragged in a breeze of forever-changing weather."        Only then she spoke.  "Your words . . . there is a harshness within them.  A bitter wind that kills.  Not a spring wind that brings life."  Vykan intentionally looked anywhere but her.        "My promises are ones of blood.  Vengeance.  I must learn a manner of inner strength to fight against my swearing."        Gyeoul-Ah's handhold faltered.  " . . . how like the Jianghu to call even to you."  Her tone reluctantly pulled him back to her.  "I think I can see some measure of how your Yin tangled as it did.        "You made those promises impulsively, didn't you, Vykan?"       ~Within the rivers and lakes~ ~In the far off back-country~ ~As a wanderer does~ ~Pruflas, the eddying demon~     It had been long eras for Pruflas to go without a plan, to rely simply on the wafting strings of his magic, pulling him in directions.  To keep in the manner of the times, he had swept his pearly hair back, bunching it as best he could behind his head.  Wild hair gave a certain impression to the people here, and he found he needed to tame it at least lightly.  Otherwise he looked of a mad cultivator or bandit.        He wasn't quite sure what to go with for the robes either, opting to stain them with magia to a black base with blue accents.  He patterned the designs of water into the silk, adjusting the length and fit to be more suited for travel than show.  Thaumaturgy and naturalis were magicks he needn't for so long, using them felt strange.  But, he was strange no matter the way.  He didn't bother to hide the yellow eyes and white hair, as changing the pupils from slits to round was enough.  If he looked too normal, his idiosyncrasies would give him away.  Made sense to approach this as he was; a foreigner.        Still, that was all the adjusting of the past.  For the time, he was wandering the jianghu.  Through the vales and over crests.  Following the pulls of aether.  They led him along creeks, between snowy crags, down trails where none traveled in the winter.  To where?  Who knows.  The fibres were gaining frequency, so whatever it was, he was closing.  The journey itself took so long, he found his old habits return.  A natural inclination to night wanderings, and day refuges.        With his 'natural' eyes, he could see all the night creatures on their quiet soirees, lapping creek water, scavenging pittances, scurrying from him.  With his aether-attuned eyes, he saw the night as day.  He could see the winds of magic billowing in the land, as clear as scattered leaves or sand along the currents.  From the long, long ventures of his life, he was able to tap into the reservoirs, pulling from them without stopping.  Just by being here he was gaining yet more.  But raw power was not enough.  What use is it without the proper hand?        The long trek gave time for thinking, all said.  He could feel his mind clearing, which was strange, as the shadows returned.  The whispering doubts and movements that tormented him for so long on Terra.  It was different now.  Pruflas watched a pair of ethereal eyes boring from the shadow of a root bough, and felt nothing.  As though they no longer had the power over him they once did.        He trudged past the eyes, and up a hill incline.  The duke stuck to the matte earth whenever possible, avoiding tramping in the melting snow.  The wet slush tended to cling, and using aether to clean that was somewhat . . . affable?  It was more efficient to abide by nature in these times, and let the magic focus on guidance over control.        The fibres tugged him to the side of the hill.  Stopping to sit on a rock, Pruflas scanned the area.  Nothing stood out of the ordinary for such a pull of magic.  The vale was patchwork, part snow, part mud, mostly hidden under moonlight.  It hit Pruflas what stood out the most in that quiet moment.  It was the lack of lights.  Nothing at all like Night City, Mega-City One, or even the ruins of old.  He laid back, cushioning on magia, casting his thoughts back.        It truly was like the Earth gone.  There was a sting of disquietude when he tried to immerse fully in the nostalgia.  This land was too romantic.  Too unreal.  Was this not a past then, but a world like Spheri Mundi?  Was he not on Earth, even here?  He gazed up to the stars, twinkling away without an answer.  Earth, or Terra?        The stars, like always, kept to their silence.  Pruflas watched them with tireless eyes for until dawn anew.        It was always interesting to creatures that could see beyond the thin line of visual frequency humans did.  Day, of course, came far sooner than light showed.  Pruflas decided to shift into ultraviolet, watching the pale blue tint stretch over the sky, drowning out an otherwise clear dawn into haze.  Ultraviolet scattered like visual white noise.  The advantage of this, was that perceptive creatures become able to see far sooner than the lower frequency spectrum.  Certain pigments and minerals lit off in UV glow, like starlight embedded in the ground.  It made for a different time in antiquity.  What the ancients found fascinating is mundane to modern man.        That having said, UV is painful to stay within for too long.  Higher energy and all that.  Once the iridescent ball threatened to crest over horizon, Pruflas shifted back to the visible spectrum, colors returning from purple and blue monochrome to the full rainbow.  He allowed one last look at the stars still there, before fully entering the world of the mortals.  Time to see what all the fuss is about.        He rolled off the rock to a spring hop, venturing back to the spot of magia.  Nothing even still.  He knelt down, padding for anything at all, until seeing the thin wafts of magia between earth.  Almost like heat shimmers, if not for it being winter and buried.  Pruflas closed his eyes, tendrils of magic leaving him into the ground at the hillside angle in front, burrowing for . . . for . . . ah, he clenched his eyelids, grasping invisibly but tangibly at the object inside.  Secure in his magic, he opened his eyes and placed a palm in the air before himself, willing it out of the ground to him.        Like a mole, earth pushed outward with the snapping cracks of ancient roots tearing, a fresh, heavy smell of dampness cloying the air.  Fuck, that's heady.  Stinging esters of powerful spices teared in his eyes, stung the sinus.  Pruflas shook his head as the object popped free of clutch, and into palm and sight.  It was . . . it looked like a daikon radish.  Very clearly a large root of some kind.  Probably a foot and change lengthwise, 3/4 inch diameter.  Tubule branches sprung about as he surveyed it over.  Undeniable, this thing is steeped in magic.  Dense as the dragon bones of Great Kestrel, at least.  What to do?  Well, I don't need much in the way of raw power.  I imagine a thing like this makes good bargain.  And I'm such a good preservationist.        With an amused chuckle, Pruflas began to wrap the root in magia, sealing it within an ethereal case.  Like a bug in cocoon.  Hm.  He stashed it in his robe.  And that was that.  The magia fibres flowed like seaweeds in invisible laps, free of their target once more.  Pruflas stared at the horizon view, as the sun finally separated from the line and into the sky proper.  His discerning gaze saw the shimmers of far off mirages, peeking from between rolling hills to plains far beyond.  Tch.  Dammit.  With a forced breath of calm, he focused on the fibres again, recalibrating for the next target.        Faint, which suggested distance, Pruflas found a new target, pushing with heel off the hillside to further lands beyond.        It was not the last dud for the duke.        By the time the aether guide had him to civilization, he hadn't bothered keeping track of how many things he unearthed, or climbed, or sought, or otherwise found.  He adjusted an outer fold of his silk to a makeshift travel sack, stuffing the roots, herbs, flowers, bones, and seeds all like random garbage to lug along, than anything else.  He was quite miffed finally being drawn to a city again.        At least he had the experience to re-tune the aether each scavenge, or he'd have been wandering in circles for who knows how long.  Ah, well.  Fatigue was purely mental, of course.  His body sustained off the rich magicks, and the proximity to so many artifacts purified the air further around him.  He could keep the clothes maintained and cleaned to an uncanny degree, wash himself with summoned water.  It was the repetition.        Now the monotony was broken.  Pruflas had been drawn back to a city, finally, where streets were stone, buildings thick in construction, lanterns and banners bright, and people once more.  He didn't bother with looking the fool, simply following straight after the mote visible only to him, to the destination.        It led through alleys, cats and dogs scrounging, kids playing and peeping, vendors peddling, workers bustling, and the hum of life back where once was solitude.  It was a good change, Pruflas' mood rising at the sight.  He wandered the streets through the city, larger than a town, until he was at a pavilion gate.  A circular thing adult wide as tall, with a through hatch for the guard behind to peer out.  Pruflas looked to either side, seeing the pavilion walls extend for a ways either choice, and then looked up to the faint tops of buildings behind the wall.  The magia mote tugged within.  Finally.        He knocked on the door.        They certainly made him wait, before answering.  A gruff opening of the hatch, eyes peering at the duke.  "What?"        Pruflas quirked an eyebrow.  Eh, not worth the trouble.  "Greetings, brother.  I am a wander-by, and I seek entrance."  No response, but no rejection either.  Pruflas continued.  "I have both myself and my items to barter for entry.  I would like to join your establishment."        A boisterous laugh rattled the door.  "What vagary!  You lie well, swindler, but we have no need of amusement.  Leave our threshold!"  A shut of the hatch.         No, this simply will not do.  Pruflas strode to the door, finding it reinforced with novel arrays.  He found it fascinating enough it distracted him a while.  Hm, care in the design.  Do I force it through, or be gentle?  The fact he even entertained a thought of brutal violence showed the effect Vykan had on him.  Let's not.  He began to focus himself -- knowing the fact he was a being of aether -- and matched his internal resonance with the barrier.  He would be invisible to it.        It took a while, enough for sun to begin an evening set, sky turning soft orange.  Eventually, he strut his internal waves to the same tones as the array, before focusing on the physical problem.  The gate.  At least that was simple.  He placed a palm on the door, forcing the bolt aside, before pushing it aside.        The door swung to a courtyard, with training dummies and low level aspirants training.  Pruflas simply made his way inside, and off to his left the sound of a guard shouting drew attention to what just happened.  "Hoh!  What the!  Hey-yoh!  We have an intruder!"  A sound of a gong ringing echoed in the courtyard, as movements of guards poured from the barracks near the entrance.  A half-ring formed around Pruflas, him standing belatedly with his hands in the air.  A senior guard, judging by his age and forehead wrap, took place in front of Pruflas, sword drawn.  "What boldness!  Who sent this one?!"        Pruflas exaggerated a thumb back to the pavilion door, still open.  "No one sent me.  Whoever you had guarding the door left the damned thing unlocked.  I told him I was here to join, and assumed he left it open."        Without turning his head, the guard called out.  "Who's on station?!  Get up here, now!"        The same eyes, attached to a slobbish looking guard, jogged up.  "I-he's lying, brother!  Why would I leave the gate unlocked?"        Oh, boy.  I hate gaslighting.  My brothers were so good at it.  Pruflas cocked his head back in mock disbelief.  "Did I or did I not just walk in?  The door was clearly open.  Does it look like I forced anything?"  From the now-withering glares from some of the guards, it was pretty clear from the evidence what could have happened.  Fucking hell, let's not get this guy's ass kicked.  "It was no harm, no foul, it seems?  As I said, I am here to join, and have brought some payments to do so."  He pulled from his silken pouch one of the roots, preserved just as it had left the ground.         Immediate mutterings.  Some guards instinctively lowered blade, looking among each other.  Well, at least they're distracted.  I was scared I was gonna see a lynching for a moment.  The head guard's eyes looked from Pruflas' face to the root and back again, without moving his head.  After a moment, he sheathed his sword.  "Come with me.  And not one step out of line."        Pruflas nodded.  "Of course.  Please, lead the way."        The guard took him to the largest building, off immediately to the side halls where it seemed were residences, and to a larger room lined with tables and chairs, horseshoe ringed.  Audience hall.  Pruflas stood just to the side, in front of the main chair.  The guard bade him wait, stationing two others by the entrance before heading off.  It wasn't too long, not like by the pavilion door, when the guard and an elder returned.        Pruflas bowed his respects, the elder taking seat at the main chair.  From the seat, the elder spoke.  "I am Yeon Zhuge.  Master of the Heaven Blade Pavilion.  I hear you want to be a disciple?"        "Yes, Master Yeon.  I have scrounged many things on my travels, and wish for them to buy my knowledge from here."  He unfastened the silk attache from his garb, setting it on the ground.  The guard bristled, which Pruflas knew to twist into his own ends.  He purposefully stepped back, bidding them to untie the knot themselves with a hand wave.  A power play.  How good could these items be for the outsider to boldly declare by action;  look at them yourselves?        Yeon chuckled, tugging on his beard, before speaking.  "Namung.  Open it, if you would."        The guard, Namung, looked at Pruflas before doing so.  He tugged on the silk with a finger, lifting it to undo the knot, from a side where Yeon could see the contents.  A soft whisper sounded in the room as the fabric fluttered down, revealing all the roots, seeds, bones, and other shit Pruflas found.        A half second of silence.  Registration.        Then Yeon flew out of the chair at the sight, bellowing.  "Augh!  Thousand-year sun root!  Phoenix bone!  Century . . . "  Blood spurted from his nostrils in concerning gushes.  He staggered back into the chair to the shouts of Namung.        Pruflas himself was shocked.  "The hell?!  What was that?!"        Namung had stepped forward when Yeon grabbed at his sleeve, stopping him.  Through laughs and bloodied face, still sieving at the looks of it, the elder placated.  "He wants to join, he says?  His entire bloodline can join as far as I'm concerned!"        Pruflas didn't know what to do.  Yeon was laughing like he just lost his mind -- plenty of that in Limbo -- and Namung looked like he just shit his pants, or his balls twisted.  With a sigh out, Pruflas thought:        Ah, fuck, whatever.