Tikor is pacing.
It’s a meditative exercise, helps him organize his thoughts when things don’t make sense. The Falcon twins weren’t some second rate fodder, they were anchored, a realm almost no cultivator attains. Yet here Tantra stands, distinctly alive.
How?
He reviewed the census for their sect, there was no inner disciple by the name of ‘Rakan’, so how did they survive what should in all respects be considered a death sentence? That’s not even the worst part, according to one of his birdies, she’s in purification.
A joke, that’s what this all is, simply a joke and he’s the butt end of it.
Tantra’s a spiritual cripple, it’s a miracle she can even walk, let alone cultivate. That’s like…like if the GodBeasts left their foci, not technically impossible, it just never happens. Yet here she stands, scars and all in her fancy new robes to demolish everything he’s built.
The contract is there, and he doesn’t have a good reason to stop her from looking, that would be tantamount to admitting guilt.
What will Dozen do, he wonders, once he finds out he commissioned cultivators to kill the family's little girl wonder? Will he send him to one of the minor routes only apprentices get? Or maybe his engagement will be annulled, perhaps he’ll lose his inheritance.
Perhaps all three.
All because one girl refused to die.
This cannot stand.
-
Zon is delighted by the meal in front of him.
A simple bowl of ramen, well seasoned and ready for consumption. The ruby of his eyes gleam in delight as he gives a slight smile of contentment. Few places can reach the heights of his homeland in the culinary arts, Goruk’s is one of them. That’s not really the establishment's name, but anyone with a history here calls it that, considering how likely it is for you to actually converse with the head chef. Some find it annoying, Zon considers it to be a compliment to the experience.
Ghoruk is one of the few not intimidated by cultivators, which, if he ever left Ralth would surely result in him losing his head, but he’s probably received that threat to know well enough that leaving the city is a bad idea.
But his straightforwardness is something Zon finds endearing, like how a cat might knead a blanket, or a terrorclaw might try to nibble on your bones. All quite cute in retrospect.
He takes a nice whiff of his meal and gets to work, slow and practiced, to elevate the act of consumption from something banal to a thing of artistry. Every motion well practiced, every hum of satisfaction timed to perfection, and slow, small bites to prolong the experience. If one were to watch Zon, they would think he was trying to woo someone, but this is just how he eats, as is only proper.
He slowly sips the broth from his spoon, taking in the delicate flavour and slight hint of spice.
He lets out a sigh of contentment as he finishes his meal.
Then he turns to the man who’s been waiting patiently by his side.
“Truly a magnificent meal Goruk, it gets better every time it graces my tongue.” Says the delicate melody of a vibrating blade.
Goruk's smile is wide, “always the flatterer, eh, master Zon?”
“It is only proper to praise the chef of such a fine meal.”
“A lot of my patrons would disagree.”
“Then they lack the integral organ many categorize as ‘the brain’”
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Goruk lets out a boisterous laugh, “careful, I don’t want a duel in my restaurant.”
“No worries Goruk, I wouldn’t do something so beneath me.”
“Good, good. Unfortunate that I came here for something other than pleasant conversation.”
“Oh?”
“I was wondering if you could do me a little favour.”
Zon considers him, “that won’t be free.”
“You’ll get free ramen for the rest of your life at my establishment, I’ll even write a contract so that the ungrateful brats I call children will honour it after I’ve passed.”
“Well, that does change things.”
-
Tantra takes a deep breath.
She only needs half as much sleep as a normal mortal, a consequence of progressing in foundation. She can’t exactly go out and continue auditing the contracts in the middle of the night, that would definitively ruin her plan of pretending to pretend, so instead she meditates on her bed.
Switching between threading and gathering depending on the day.
She’s still supercharging her foundations, pulling a stream of Qi into her heart to flow through her blood, and she needs a lot of Qi quickly to manage such an endeavor.
So she keeps going with her brand of gathering, it’s an insult to finesse and delicacy, but it works wonders.
She can practically grab all of the Qi that enters her lungs, and all she has to do is strain her soul. Sure, there’s probably a reason cultivators don’t teach this method of gathering, everything has a price after all, but it’s not like she has a choice. The rate at which her soul's grown can’t overcome the sheer distance between it and her core, so she has to make a few concessions.
She’s pretty sure she even knows what those concessions are.
More and more it’s getting easier to bully her way into gathering Qi, perhaps it could be waved away as familiarity but it’s simply too fast. Then the catch snagged when she tried to gather the ordinary way, it was significantly harder.
Tantra theorizes that her will is changing somehow. How will this affect everything else, considering will is integral to techniques? She has no idea.
But it’s not like she’s gonna switch now, she needs the Qi.
So she’ll find out if that was a good or bad idea later.
She breathes out through her nose, then lets another in through her mouth.
Her meridians are coming along, slowly. It takes a twentieth of her core being filled with soul Qi to cleanse a minor one now, and considering it gets harder the more you cleanse, her core has grown significantly from where it started. She kind of wonders how flush with soul Qi anchored souls must be to keep up with the core, it must be insane.
With her paltry offerings she’s only been capable of cleansing thirty meridians, she’s debated if she has enough space to store the Qi needed to cleanse a major one in one go. The thing with taint is that it replicates, creating more of itself, and most cultivators chip away slowly, beating the rate of multiplication through a marathon. She doesn’t have this option, her soul delivers too slowly, so she has to do it all in one go.
To even store enough Qi for such an endeavor she might need to wait a full year, possibly longer, to even have a chance at cleansing a major meridian. Which is not something she’s willing to do, that’s too much time for a meager investment.
Her control’s already good enough where she rivals the meridians in boosting efficiency, and it’s not like she’s ever actually going to anchor, so what’s the point?
She takes another breath.
-
What is it to be a duck?
Ever since Dok got his name he’s been contemplating this conundrum, how does he be a good duck, the best duck ever? There are a multitude of answers, soar through the sky like…well he doesn’t know but the metaphors are in there somewhere. Or he could mate until his progeny takes over the world!
Highly unlikely that one.
So, Dok has decided by process of elimination, that being a good duck is to be a menace.
He waits under the table for the giver of grapes to come within striking distance, he can’t see her, not with his eyes. But he can with his mind, as a good duck should.
So, as she takes the steps to her doom, Dok prepares to springboard.
As soon as she’s within range he launches himself, letting out a grand honk as his warcry. The grape giver yelps with surprise as he collides with her, and he can hear her fall to the floor, spilling her food everywhere.
The black eyed one wheezes, “Ranya can’t believe you couldn’t see him.”
“Screw you Ranya, and screw you too Dok”
Dok honks at her.
“Sometimes I feel like he can understand us,” The…unremarkable one says?
Dok honks at her to confirm that yes, he can in fact understand them, and that they should stop acting like he’s stupid.
She coos at him like he’s stupid.
He flies and stomps on her face.
