Erick doesn’t understand a lot, he knows this.

  He doesn’t understand why pa died, or why ma starved herself to keep him fed. He doesn’t understand how people he’s lived with for so long could turn to cruelty so quickly, and he doesn’t understand why Rakan died.

  But that’s okay, because Tantra said it was okay.

  So it’s okay.

  There’s a part of him that screams that it’s not okay, that the world shouldn’t be so complicated, but he shuts that part up because it’s weak and stupid. He doesn’t take advice from things that are weak and stupid.

  Weak? Maybe.

  Stupid? Sure.

  But both together? That’s just asking for bad outcomes, so he accepts the world for what it is and moves on. He has to move on, he can only move on. If he stays still he’ll die, just like pa, just like ma, just like Rak-

  “Oh aren’t you just so precious,” A woman he thinks is named Jalia coo’s at him, “don’t you think Farsa, isn’t he just a treat?”

  What?

  “Stop with your nonsense,” Farsa chuckles, “you’re confusing the poor boy.”

  “But the Toga just fits so well over his tunic! All we need is to fix up that hair, get some proper jewellery, and find a suitable perfume (something strong!) and he’ll be a proper young master!”

  “Young master?” Erick tilts his head.

  This was clearly the wrong course of action as the woman went to attack him by pulling at his cheek.

  “Yes, you sweet little thing, we’re going to turn you into the handsomest boy in Ralth.”

  Erick, for all his…almost seven? He doesn’t know, let’s just say seven. For all his seven years of wisdom, he doesn’t know how to handle whatever is happening to him right now. Should he be happy or scared?

  “You always go for the gaudy look,” Farsa shakes her head, “what he needs is the subtle touch, an earring, some makeup to cover the paleness of his skin, and perhaps a dash of eyeshadow”

  Erick just looks between them in confusion as Jalia pouts.

  “Fineeee, you know best.”

  “Of course I do.”

  -

  Kisrin never learned how to read maps, and the same can be said of most disciples of the Serpent’s Fang. What’s the use of understanding geographic locations when not too long ago you were a simple peasant who couldn’t leave the bounds of their own village without permission from their lord? Instead he knows quite a bit about crop rotations, tilling the fields, and how to haggle at the market.

  All skills that are generally useless now, all things considered.

  The spike of pain digs deep, as it always does.

  But that’s okay, they deserve to be remembered, even if it hurts.

  “Now,” Kiki says, “can you tell me why the coastal cities are the richest in Rikidan?”

  Kisrin wracks his brain, “because all the big merchant clans can be found there?”

  Kiki clicks her tongue, “incorrect, that’s a side effect of their prosperity, not the cause. No, these cities are the arteries of trade, all because of their location. Water vessels can travel fast and far, and don’t require the need to navigate through arduous terrain or contend with spirit beasts.”

  “So they get used as gathering points?”

  “Exactly, talk to Temi, and you’ll find out what happens to countries that don’t have easy access to a body of water, very few prosper. It’s also why cities like Vastha are so rich.”

  “What’s Vastha?”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Kiki sighs, “I forgot about your peasant upbringing for a moment, we can talk about Vastha when we get to international trade routes.”

  -

  The halls in the Sol mansion are tranquil, almost sedated even. Excitement doesn’t exist here, only functional order and proper decorum. Forn has spent three decades as a guard for this place, and he’s long learned to appreciate the silence. It’s different from the clamour of the markets, or the contained violence of the crowds. Like a painting, perfect in its subtlety, and ostentatious in its presentation.

  So he was extremely surprised when he found mistress Ral chasing a girl with short brown hair in cultivators' robes.

  “Get back here!” She bellows.

  “Stay away from me you crazy bitch!” The girl screams back

  “I will scrape that tongue raw of your deplorable mannerisms! You will learn to speak properly, ingrate!”

  “Fuck you! I’d kick your ass if you weren’t Tantra’s mom.”

  “Kick your derriere.”

  “What?”

  “Say it!”

  “No!”

  -

  History isn’t a subject he’s familiar with beyond bards tales, so he thought it would be cool, and while it is interesting, it’s mostly exhausting. Why are there so many names who did so many things, with most of those things being boring shit, like tax law, or really weird shit, like enforcing Sunday as national cultivators day. That got reversed pretty fast after that particular emperor suffered an unfortunate case of severe stabbings.

  It’s actually really interesting, besides Jorick Theokal, none of the emperors were immortal, all being in some stage of cultivation that solidifies they still have a finite lifespan. Technically if you keep digging your roots you could live forever, it just takes more time then you’d have to do, although those who’ve anchored tend to live for a much longer amount of time, according to what he learned at the sect at least.

  So the oldest emperor besides Jorick was getting close to five centuries.

  Died of a stroke.

  Yorin doesn’t know what a stroke is but he laments that particular emperor's death all the same, according to Temi, he was rather benevolent.

  “Now, Girth Rikid, through the pressure of the senate, had to relinquish his throne to his son, Gorth Rikid. This solidified the senate's desire to expand Rikidan, and over the next century the empire grew to twice its size to encompass the territories we are familiar with today, though Gorth had…unpopular methods”

  “What kind of methods.”

  “The kind that aren’t very appropriate to discuss with children.”

  Yorin scrunches his brow, “I’ve probably seen worse than you lady.”

  Temi chuckles, “you probably have, but Gorth was called the emperor of anguish for a reason, and many of his exploits are much worse than anything you could imagine.”

  -

  Tantra is making a ball float out of frustration.

  Combing through the contracts has been…frustrating. The sheer volume of things she has to review is simply staggering, what with the Jade Sol being one of the greater merchant clans. Dozen is extremely proud of her, which she doesn’t find annoying at all. But she has been…enjoying the work, if only slightly.

  She’d be enjoying it much more if she was actually auditing and not searching for a specific contract. It taints the experience!

  So, Tantra’s taking a break by making a ball float.

  The separation between it and her palm is not impressive, but it is floating, which is proof enough of her efforts.

  Intention is…strange.

  The simple component, willpower, is the fuel for bending reality to your desires. It is, essentially, how much effort you can put into the task in the first place.

  Then there’s the communication with reality…which is where things rapidly turn confusing. You see, when you make a ball float, for example, you’re not really the one making it float. Reality is.

  It’s kind of like a conversation, or debate where you try to convince the laws of the universe that actually, your desires are how it should act, not the primordial systems that have governed it for so long, and this works. The more conversations you have, the easier it is to convince.

  Then, last but not least, is the concept.

  This is how you define your desire, do you want to make fire, or do you want to replicate the conditions that would make a fire? One of those is near impossible without a dao, while the other even Tantra can do. For example, to float the ball, she isn’t telling reality to make it float, she’s telling it to separate from her palm, which coincidentally makes it float. It’s somewhat cheating, but how you phrase your desires is the most important factor.

  It determines how much Qi you end up using.

  Which also means that if you want to make a certain effect more efficient you need to study, the bane of all cultivators, but something Tantra’s not really averse to.

  She’s already ordered a few books on the heart and biology, for the technique she’s been theory-crafting.

  Her door bursts open and Tantra loses her concentration, making the ball fall into her palm.

  “My lady!” says the exuberant voice of a young woman, “you truly have returned! Oh, wow, they did not exaggerate about the scars.”

  “Thanks Alia,” Tantra says blandly.

  “No worries my lady, you can always count on me to tell you the hurtful truths,” She nods dutifully.

  Tantra rolls her eyes, but has to suppress the urge to smile.