Book 2, Chapter 1 - Radiance, Radiation, and Leaden Hope (Patreon)

Gahd damn, dude. I am a WAY better writer than when I started, holy shit! Going back to reread and edit this did soooooo much, and honestly, I really enjoyed the experience, even if it did remind me how much fucking work editing is. Ah well! Onwards we go!

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The concept of a truly functional nation-state is a rarity in our world. To go from warring sects and starving fiefdoms to malformed kingdoms and back again is to believe that the heights a society can achieve is a few scant centuries of prosperity before collapse. The Empire dispels such thoughts by its very nature, standing millennia old and with a level of safety, security, and sustenance that has never before been recorded in the known history of the world. 

Our great nation has tamed the factionalism that dwells at the heart of mankind, embracing ideas old and new into a fusion that creates the ideal structure to provide for us citizens. Those blessed and burdened with unique bloodlines are not shunned for their differences, but brought into the fold, that they might better serve their fellow citizens in research, defense, and labor, and all those who toil are rewarded ever more with land, resources, and government stipends for their livelihoods, independently of their origins. Children are given access to educational centers in even the smallest village, allowing them to learn about the world, who they might become in it, and gain the skills necessary to grow properly as servants of prosperity. Every sect dedicates a portion of their disciples to the defense of our borders, with millions of proud cultivators standing proudly atop the Wall, and more each year, while natural treasures that once required life-threatening dangers to discover can now be purchased directly from the golden gardens of the Empire. 

For the first time since the dawn of history, there is peace in the world, under the auspicious gaze of our beloved Emperor of Emperors, highest above all, which graces us with its benevolence and asks so little in return. Let us celebrate this joyous life we lead, together, on this most special Golden Day!

-Pre-prepared speech delivered to all major population centers for the yearly Golden Day festival event. To be read by official eyes only. Glory Be.

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Taurus kneels in the center of an empty room, muzzle pressed awkwardly and chin almost folded into his neck to keep both head and horns as low to the ground as possible. Even so awkwardly bent, they’re still a few inches off the ground, and dangerously close to touching the edge of the ritual formation he’s in the center of. The room around him has been changed, desks, furniture and statues all picked up and moved aside to allow for the careful creation of the complex array that has transformed the space most of all.

Formations of ancient sigils and runes, some of the newer ones which he himself invented, glow and draw in Qi from his core and the additional spirit stones he’s placed around them. In sequence, the different factors of the magical array illuminate to his esoteric senses, forming a circuit that convinces reality of something new.

The circle activates.

And he kneels. He keeps every part of himself as low to the ground as he can physically go, kowtowing to the empty space in the circle, waiting.

He waits there for an hour before he feels any change. 

Apparently, they’re in a bit of a hurry today. Usually they like to make sure he waits at least a few.

The world around the array begins to flicker. The shadows lengthen, drawn into the diagram, pulling the edges of the room closer and closer as if his perspective is falling. Space warps, his senses screaming that everything is shifting to a single pinprick, collapsing in like a singularity, taking everything into the dark-

There is a flicker of light, and a star is born. 

It radiates light, it radiates warmth, it radiates a burning, loving kind of control, and it descends. For several moments, there is nothing but the dark, and the sensation of falling, and the light. And then it touches down, just above him.

“Raise your head, Senior Researcher Boriah,” says a voice he is all too familiar with. “Let your gaze rest upon me.”

He obeys, maintaining the bow while allowing his head to slowly come off the floor and look up.

He ignores the pain in his neck, keeping the well-practiced motion perfectly precise. Any less would be unacceptable.

“Such majestic horns,” says the figure above him. “We’ll have to make sure they’re clipped soon, hmm?”

“Of course, Grandmaster Errath,” Taurus rumbles, dipping his head slightly to nod.

“Keep looking at me, Senior Researcher Boriah,” the Grandmaster whispers. “I would like for you to see me as I ponder your actions.”

He tenses, just a bit. This does not stop him from obediently raising his eyes, though the glow of the figure makes them ache and the arch of his back cramps his spine.

Grandmaster Errath smiles down at him. Errath Kahn, Grandmaster of the Division of Altered Cultivation, even when formed from rippling fire and star-bright radiation, does not look like a man who holds much power. He wears simple robes, with little ostentation, and no jewelry save a single earring, an emerald-jade ring, and a single pendant, all made of unimpressive brass and silver. His face has wrinkles on it, something nearly all cultivators do not allow or actively do away with once they reach a certain Realm, and rather than an impressive beard or boldly shaven face, he has stubble on his chin and cheeks, allowing the shadow of facial hair to disrupt his appearance. Even his skin is outside the norm; rather than the porcelain and white jade so favored by the Empire, he bears an olive-tan complexion, as if from many long hours working in the sun.

His eyes are the exception. 

They say eyes are windows to the soul, and for all the superficially human appearance he wields, Grandmaster Errath seems content to let the saying ring true. They glimmer, iridescent hues flickering at their edges around a central core of Blue, Gold, Purple and Green, but more notably, each eye bears three pupils, slitted and bleeding into each other like a strange, spiral fractal. 

“What to do with you, Boriah,” Grandmaster Errath whispers, shaking his head. “You know, you could have simply come to me if you were having trouble. You take on too much. Your disability need not reflect poorly on you, and this drive you have to prove yourself, no matter how noble, can never be as noble as a simple job well done.”

“I thank you for your insight, honored Grandmaster,” Taurus says, fighting hard not to blink.

“All those troublemakers you’ve taken on. It’s applaudable, taking on so many problem cases, and I admit I find many of them fascinating myself. That young apprentice of yours, does she know why she’s been chosen yet?”

“No, Grandmaster,” Taurus replies, breathing a bit heavier.

“Good, good. The better we can keep the conditions of that experiment undisclosed, the better the eventual results, I think. Your methods provide dividends, Boriah, of that have no doubt. I just worry. That… what was it, purple something or other sect? They’ve been complaining, you know. Hardly the right of a paltry little third-ring sect to make noise, but they’re positively incensed. You’re lucky the governor seems content to laugh away the whole affair. I assume it’ll be asking you for a favor soon, and you’ll do well to fulfill it as dutifully as your other responsibilities. There’s only so much grace I can extend, even to such a favored son.”

“I understand, Grandmaster,” Taurus groans, a hint of strain in his voice as he feels his eyes start to bubble from the heat.

“Good. You so often do. That’s what I like most about you, Boriah, you understand. All the necessary sacrifices, all the things which must be pursued and gained, you understand the need for it all. And you so often deliver. A true researcher, through and through.”

The glowing, incandescent figure kneels down lower, coming closer and closer into Taurus’ sight. The kindly, too-human face of the thing he is speaking to fills his entire field of vision, forcing it brighter and brighter until he can feel his corneas start to break apart and burn from it. He doesn’t dare blink.

“But things change, Boriah,” Grandmaster Errath whispers. “Fail me once, shame on you. Fail me twice, well… we can’t have that.”

He cups Taurus’ chin gently, as if scolding a child. 

“Such a troublesome new addition. Such a gross, vulgar show of strength, to take her so boldly, and to wield my name to do it. Another troublemaker to add to your pack. Quite a set of experiments you’re running.”

The eyes of the thing he calls master loom over his own, crystal-clear in spite of the blood running down his face. 

“Don’t lose control,” he whispers, forcing eye contact even as Taurus spasms at the radiant heat of the touch. “Or I’ll have to send someone in to supervise. And I do love how free I can let you roam, Boriah. I would hate to take that away from you.”

He lets go of Taurus’ chin. He waits for a moment to see if Taurus will break eye contact. When he doesn’t, Errath nods, once, and stands again.

“You may bow,” he tells him.

Slowly, forcing himself to remain still, to keep from moving too fast, Taurus bends his head and neck back into submission, letting his eyes begin to heal as ocular fluids mixed with crimson drip onto the floor. 

“Have you had much progress researching the attack?” Grandmaster Errath asks, his tone bored as he switches away from the topic at hand.

“Some, Grandmaster,” Taurus replies, keeping his voice level from years of experience. “We’ve ascertained the material as sunstone, from the Cold Sun, and there are only so many deposits and landfalls every decade. We’re tracking all of them now. Unfortunately, we’ve only a few of the artifacts remaining for study. The outer bodies were lesser-tier undead, clearly made by an amateur, with no implanted techniques or major Qi reservoirs, and thus were often damaged in the conflict, but the sunstone constructs in their interiors are far more viable for research, and were what caused the majority of the damage. They are clearly artificial, but the technique for them seems self-taught, not corresponding to any known styles, restricted or public.”

“Good,” replies the thing that is not a man and which hurts to look upon. “How exciting. A fresh face on the scene, ripe for the picking. Do try to take the creator alive when you find them, will you? It’s not that I underestimate the talents of you and your experiments, but the addition of such a mind to the Division of Altered Cultivation is always a boon. And send over what you’ve found so far, I’d love to begin running tests to see if they’ve stumbled onto any new applications for the sunstone. One never knows when they might find diamonds amongst coal, hmm?”

“Your will is the way, Grandmaster,” Taurus replies.

“So it is,” the impossible entity agrees. “Best of luck, Senior Researcher Boriah. As always, I have high hopes for you.”

And with that, the array snaps, breaking cleanly and ending the vision far more abruptly than it began.

Taurus keeps his face pressed to the ground, cycling his Qi. He’ll heal from this. He’s never not healed from it before, but… every time, the fear that this is the moment that he’ll be pushed too far or fail in a way he hasn’t in so long rears its head.

Once a month. Every month. Reporting in is mandatory, though most other Researchers don’t have a line to the Grandmaster himself. Once a month he kneels down, carving and painting intricate sigils, powdered ingredients and enchanted inks, transforming an entire room into the right form, and waits.

Bowing, of course. As low to the ground as his body will allow.

It’s only when the pain has faded, and when he can blink without tears forming, that he sighs, and slowly gets to his feet.

It takes him far less time to clean than it did to set up. A pot filled with water, a rag, and a quick flex of Qi and a Truth to undo the chemical bindings between the ingredients of the ink. It’s almost meditative, the next hour or so dedicated to nothing but the simple, safe act of cleaning.

There had been no mention of the conflict between Paleblossom city’s sects, nor its cause. No mention of Taurus going out to handle an escaped subject, no conversation about silenced witnesses, no details about the aftermath. The silence could point to evidence being collected to use against him just as easily as it could point to the possibility that he handled it acceptably.

But there was no mention of the boy.

There wouldn’t have needed to be, really. A Foundational Realm street urchin isn’t really a thing worth mentioning to most, least of all the Grandmaster of an entire Division of the Empire, almost two rings away. 

But the fact is, the boy had gained his cultivation after meeting his latest recruit. The Divination department had confirmed it; before their relationship, he’d been nothing of note. And by the time Taurus met him and… did what he did, the boy had gone up an entire realm, and had felt strange. Not off, not strangely rotten to his senses like he’s seen before in cases like this, where a young cultivator pursues their path on their own, without a sect or support. It had smelled… proper. Like watching a surprisingly well made teapot in some corner of the world pour a perfectly silent stream of water from its spout. Not anything strange, but right in a way that’s hard to articulate.

“Right” enough that he would have grown. Would have become a potential stumbling block, in a year or in a decade, either way much too soon to afford such a thing.

The options, then. Take him, or end him.

It would have been easy. Easier, even. Eliminate the problem by taking said problem as an advantage, like he’s been trained to do. No one to interrogate the witness to a failing of the Division, or to testify (willingly or not) to the need for greater bindings on his latest project, and he could have added the kid to the roster. An easy angle with which to control his latest subject.

It would have been easy to make the boy an officially registered experiment. 

It would have been easy to bring him into the plan, and to make him a part of what’s to come.

He pauses, realizing he’s clenching his fist hard enough to feel his bones creaking. Slowly, he forces himself to relax, even as he raises a hand to touch a long, thin scar on his chest, in the shape of a Y.

He raises a hand to his eyes, wiping away some of the blood.

Another moving piece. Another potential point of failure. Another doomed to exist in the world to come.

Too much risk. Not worth it.

Too cruel, if it could be avoided. Better to end it quick and painless.

Well. As much of each as he can manage.

She may well hate him for a few years, perhaps decades, but that’s alright. He’s admittedly concerned about some of the new behaviors, but trauma responses are to be expected, and accommodated if possible in the process. He has time. In the face of immortality, what’s a few decades? What’s a few maladaptive coping mechanisms?

He has time. Not forever, never that, but he has time.

The thing inside his core stirs, trying to wake.

He quiets it, adding more to the layers surrounding and suffocating it.

Not forever. But there’s still time.

He’s almost ready. Everything has to click in to place just right. He’s so close now.

He looks at the papers on his desk. Notes on potential new theories, ideas about interrelated arcanistry, practical journals on the formation of new runes and array-sigils- and letters, with names that reach from the peak of the Empire down to its base, each one written precisely and coded just so.

He’s so close now.

He just needs to get it right.