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feynites · 6 years ago

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Scum Villain AU

Welp, fell down a rabbit hole of translations for novels written by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu, and my brain would not let go of the idea for a Scum Villain sharkbait AU. I blame @pyrrhy also for being a fantastic enabler.

So, this is a thing now! But first, on Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, the general synopsis is that a book reviewer dies suddenly with his last thoughts being of how unsatisfied he was with the harem/stallion novel he just finished reading. He finds himself subsequently transported into the body of a minor ‘scum’ villain from said book, with the task of fixing/improving the story. Of course, the character he’s currently been cast as was, in the original novel, dismembered and killed by the protagonist.

In the interests of not having that happen, our intrepid hero immediately starts trying to suck up to the protagonist. He does a good job. In fact he does such a good job that the protagonist ends up falling in love with him, and therein lies the core of the story’s shenanigans.

If you wanna read the translations, it’s ongoing here at bc novels. For other works by the same author, there’s Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi, which also has an animated series) over here at Exiled Rebels Scanlations, and Heaven’s Official Blessing is being translated here at Sakhyulations. Translating is hard work so if you read and enjoy any of ‘em, it’s nice to consider donating to the sites, too!

Some of the above stories definitely fall into problematic pitfalls of the slash genre, though. While I am a big fan of the pacing and storytelling Mo Xiang Tong Xiu pulls off and love her characters, I’ve been forewarned on some issues too. As I’m still reading my way through I can’t give my personal assessment on a lot of that stuff or offer more in-depth warnings for everything. But it should probably be mentioned.

Warnings For This Fic in Particular: At the outset of our story, Uthvir is underage. No romance is gonna take place while they are, but when they meet Thenvunin is an 18 year-old posing as their teacher, and Uthvir is 15. This is a slow burn. I also follow the original plot points of the story pretty closely but change up the order/direction of some things, too.

Additional Notes: In the original novel, the story that the lead character gets sucked into is a fantasy/cultivation novel hybrid with elements from a whole thwack of other genres, too. I’m leaning more heavily into the fantasy stuff because I don’t have much experience with cultivation novels, just for reference, but it should be noted that a lot of the story elements draw expressly from Chinese culture and I can take no credit for them - just in case anyone who’s totally new to these genres reads along. Also, I took some liberty with the names of things, because just throwing in Chinese words seemed unfitting and I’m not following the entire script on world-building elements. (Plus, in the novel, the story’s author is notoriously bad at naming things anyway.)

Alright, my apologies for the huge stack of notes/explanations! Please enjoy reading. The characters Calain and Jhe’andal (not seen in this chapter but bound to appear later) belong to @pyrrhy, who’s graciously loaned them to me so I can mess around.

“Stupid author, stupid novel!”

Thenvunin was not entirely surprised that those ended up being the last words he uttered in life. Though he is rather regretful about it. But at the time, processing the sudden failure of his ongoing health treatments had been harder than just fixating on the fact that, probably, the last book he was ever going to read in his life had been that terrible trainwreck of a harem fantasy novel.

That popular disaster of a book, ‘Immortal Demon Way’. With records broken on copies sold, but most critics more or less agreeing that it was mindless dreck. Except, the problem was, it wasn’t really ‘mindless’ dreck. There had been parts that were really promising. That was the real tragedy of the entire mess. The story had plenty of interesting side-characters and concepts, some intriguing world-building, even the promise of genuinely engaging content. But all of it had been tethered to a truly terrible main plotline. A black hole of a plot that managed to be boring and offensive by turns, even if the protagonist did manage to come across as somewhat compelling once in a blue moon.

Because ‘Immortal Demon Way�� was pure self-indulgent trash. The leading character, Uthvir, was one of those characters whose tragic life led them onto a dark path of retribution and conquest. Despite being pure-hearted in their youth, the constant mistreatment from people around them eventually blackened their heart, until they were the sort of person who wear a friendly smile while torturing a man to death. And naturally, over the course of the story, they managed to accumulate a truly massive harem, all filled with beautiful women. Even though the author - writing under an anonymous pen name of ‘Half-Demon Prince’, had come out and said that the character wasn’t exclusively attracted to women - that claim never manifested in the actual text. Which made the whole gesture feel quite performative.

Honestly, Thenvunin probably would have never picked up the book if he didn’t need to review it for the site he worked for. He’d never been fond of harem works, where the hero collects love interests like they’re filling up a basket of flowers. It had less to do with the numbers involved, and more to do with the sheer fact that more love interests usually meant less development on any particular relationship. Plus, inevitably, there would be scheming plotlines within the harem, and Thenvunin had never liked reading about women causing one another to miscarry or murdering each other’s babies to try and keep ahead in ranking. Luckily, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ hadn’t included a lot of such content, and what was there had been easy to skip. Enough so that Thenvunin had found himself speed-reading most of the ‘romantic’ parts. A sure sign of failure, given that romance was his actual preferred genre.

But yes, all in all, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ was one of those stories he would have been happy not to think about ever again. And instead, it had ended up being his last thought in life.

Well…

In his old life, at any rate.

But somehow, after he had died, he had found himself hearing an odd robot voice in his mind. Sort of like one of those automatic screen-readers.

W. ..what…?

“...What’s going on?” Thenvunin had asked.

The obvious question, really. He had felt panicked, or rather, like he should be panicked, but also like everything he could feel was very far away. Shock? He’d gone into shock before. It was a similar sensation, but not exact. But then again, there could be a lot of variables with that sort of thing. Everywhere around him just looked blurry, and pale. As if he was standing in a very modern office and wearing smudged glasses. He wondered if he’d survived after all, and if this latest disaster in his health had damaged his eyes so badly.

It was a chilling thought. Or, it should have been.

World? What world?

“I don’t understand,” Thenvunin said. “Am I in the hospital? Where’s my mother?”

That last question was perhaps more embarrassing than he would have liked, but it didn’t seem as if he was feeling embarrassment too keenly, either. And his mother always came whenever he was hospitalized. Thenvunin was only eighteen, and had been sick all of his life. Naturally, his mother worried a great deal about him, and the hospital staff knew to inform her whenever he had a serious incident.

Deceased…?

Thenvunin reeled, and even with his current level of detachment, struggled to process it all. He tried asking the “system” more questions, but none of them seemed to garner satisfactory answers. Asking who had created it didn’t get him anywhere. Nor did asking how it knew anything about him. Asking what this whole ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project was just prompt a repeat of the ‘story goals’ - it sounded like he was being moved into a story in order to fix it? Like a sort of virtual reality?

He had a great deal of trouble processing the whole concept.

But then, there didn’t seem to be anything for him to do but accept it in the end, either. It could all be a trick, but, Thenvunin did remember dying. Or something that felt close enough to it that he couldn’t bring himself to take that risk. He was afraid of dying; afraid enough that he could feel it, even as he drifted in that strange ‘waiting room’.

It was a feeling that followed him as he woke up in another strange room. But this time it was one he could see. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt like he had a terrible headache. The room around him definitely wasn’t a hospital, however. As he sat up, he could see sunlight streaming through several beautiful, open windows. The air smelled fresh, like the mountains he had visited once, before his father left. He sits up to find himself laid out in a comfortable bed, with a clothe on his brow, and a very light but comfortable robe on his body. The pale green fabric is the same colour as his eyes, but he only stares at it for a moment before his attention is arrested by something else.

His body.

Which is… definitely not his body.

There’s a curtain of long, wavy hair falling down past his shoulders. His chest is broad and… chiseled? How could he possibly have a chiseled chest? And his arms are muscular, and long, and utterly devoid of the scars he had gotten from his car crash eight months ago, when he had tried to drive himself to the hospital and veered into a lamppost instead. Thenvunin is almost too shocked to move, but after a moment, he finds himself hurriedly pushing back the blankets and looking at the rest.

His legs - !

His legs look… they look good! Moreover, as he moves, he’s startled to realize that he doesn’t feel any pain. None at all, apart from his headache. Under other circumstances he would assume he was on some heavy painkillers, but obviously, this might not even be the case? He moves his legs and marvels at the ease of it, swivels his hips and feels nothing, and after a minute he cannot help but leap out of bed and begin jumping around, amazed and entranced…

…And more than a little disconcerted. This body is totally, completely different from his own. He looks down at it and intellectually knows that he’s inside of it, but it scarcely feels that way. After a few minutes of either celebrating or panicking, or possibly both, Thenvunin finally locates a full-body mirror next to a dressing station in one corner of the room.

He stares uncomprehendingly at himself.

His eyes are the same, and his hair is the same - if somewhat longer, he thinks - and there’s a certain congruity between his facial features. But the man staring back at him is undeniably, completely different. He looks both strong and elegant, somehow. More muscular than Thenvunin would have ever idealized himself as, but the strength in those muscles is making him feel slightly giddy as he moves. And he’s tall. He’s not stooping over in the least, not struggling to keep his shoulders straight, feeling no pain from his surprisingly trim waistline…

It can’t be him!

He’s still trying to reconcile the idea when he realizes he has no clue who this character is, either. From the system, he gathered that he was going to be transported into an existing character’s body. But there are a few who might match the description of this one, and even more who were mostly undescribed. The only thing he knows for certain is that he is not Uthvir; they would not be so tall.

Right?

System, who am I supposed to be?

He freezes in place, at the sound of the response which he can somehow tell is purely in his own mind.

Did the system just call him a virgin…?

How would it know?!

Although it seemed to know everything. Thenvunin paused in embarrassment, before the rest of the message finally registered. His character is Thenevunin Thenerassan…?

Wait, ‘Thenerassan’? That villain? The corrupt instructor who was always taking time to abuse and harass Uthvir, when they were still young and full of hope for the future? He’d never even realized the character had a first name! Though admittedly, he hadn’t read all of the author’s shared notes and ‘tidbits’ on social media. For a moment he is thoroughly offended. How dare this horrible character share his name!

And then he remembers.

Thenerassan…

Thenerassan dies in this story!

And not peacefully, oh no. After years of abusing Uthvir and then finally betraying them utterly at the grand tournament, the hero comes back seeking vengeance, with their heart blackened and ruthless. They utterly decimate Thenerassan’s reputation, until there is no one on earth who would pity him, and eventually end up taking him prisoner. Then they cut off his limbs, one by one, and blind him, and use their demonic blood to torture him until he can finally take no more and expires.

And Thenvunin himself had once visited the story’s forums to express disappointment that this character wasn’t castrated, too. Considering everything he had done.

He feels faint, going white as a sheet while he stares in the mirror. So consumed with terror that he doesn’t even hear the door to the room opening.

“Brother?” an unfamiliar voice calls.

Thenvunin whips his head around, and freezes in place. A new kind of fear gripping him, as he looks at this unfamiliar person. Presumably a character in the story. For half a heartbeat, he’s almost afraid that it’s Uthvir, come to drag him off for torture and death. But then his mind catches up with him. No, this is… that wouldn’t be right. This place, based on the descriptions, must be Thenerassan’s chambers on Quiet Peak temple. The author of ‘Immortal Demon Way’ had only very loosely followed the structure of a ‘cultivation’ novel, taking grand liberties with the various stages and processes of most established works. The Peaks, as he recalled, were little more than supernatural stomping grounds; like elite clubs for people who had attained immortality through cultivating their internal energies, and becoming incredible fighters.

If he is at Quiet Peak, then he mustn’t be at a point in the story where this character has been ruined, yet. But that’s only one relief; he still finds himself looking at a concerned face he doesn’t recognize.

“...Yes?” he finally ventures.

The stranger comes into the room. He is a man. Handsome. Long dark hair, pretty brown eyes, middle-dark complexion. He could be any number of a dozen characters, really, but Thenvunin supposes he could narrow it down to the ones populating Quiet Peak. It was an early part of the story, so one he remembers fairly well.

Before he can latch onto a guess, though, the stranger pauses and gives him an assessing look.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks. “Your disciples said you collapsed out of nowhere on the practice fields. Compassion took a look at you but couldn’t see any problem, either with your health or internal mystic energies. She advised that we let you rest…”

“Ah,” Thenvunin says. “Um. Well. Yes, I… fainted.”

The stranger raises an eyebrow.

“You fainted? Have you been neglecting yourself in some way, brother?” he asks. He seems cordial enough, which further limits the possibilities for who he could be. Dark hair, brown eyes, friendly enough to check in on the unlikable Thenerassan’s health…

“...Venavismi?” he ventures.

The man blinks.

“Yes?” he asks.

Oh thank goodness.

“I. Um. I seem to be… not feeling well…” he says. It feels like an odd thing to say, since technically speaking, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so well before in his life. He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears a soft ‘bing’ inside his head, though.

<Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert. Current Participant has OOC Restriction Locks still in place. OOC Restriction Locks can be removed once Achievement: Character Development has been obtained.>

Thenvunin freezes in place again.

What?

What are OOC Restriction Locks?!

Meaning… if he behaves out of character, he’ll be penalized?

But Thenerassan is a monster! Thenvunin can’t act like that. It would be beyond the pale! And besides, how can he possibly change anything in this story if he has to act like an amoral reprobate the entire time? No, wait. There was more, wasn’t there?

What’s ‘Achievement: Character Development’?

What?! How am I supposed to do that, I’m nothing like that wretch!

Thenvunin is still in the process of thinking furiously in his mind when Venavismi seems to decide that he must be rattled. He’s accustomed enough to being handled by nurses that being steered back towards his bed barely registers in his mind, until he finds himself being settled onto the mattress again.

“...more rest, brother,” Venavismi is saying, genially. He seems to be about as nice as the impression his character gave off, in the story. Thenvunin always felt rather badly about his death. Which… he suddenly recalls, was Thenerassan’s fault. Retaliating in a fury after the accusations against him had landed, he had killed the first people who attempted to apprehend him, only for Uthvir to swoop in and put a stop to him. One of them had been Venavismi. Decapitated, as he recalls…

He feels an inexplicable rush of shame. Not that he’s responsible for Thenerassan’s actions, but, well…

“Thank you,” he says. “You are a very upright person, Venavismi, even if you can make terrible jokes sometimes.”

What? Just for saying ‘thank you’?!

<Character: Thenerassan would not thank Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would not compliment Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would also not display weakness in front of a potential rival. -5 Deduction. Deductions reduced by 50% due to mitigating factor: Plausible Disorientation.>

Internally, Thenvunin fumes. Plausible?! He is most certainly disoriented, of course he is!

But Venavismi does look very surprised.

“Um. Thank you, brother…?” he ventures. “I think I had better get another healer to attend to you. Do you remember hitting your head on anything when you collapsed?”

“Of course not, I don’t even remember collapsing!” Thenvunin snaps, flustered and unhappy with having lost points. Even though he doesn’t know what the points mean. He lets Venavismi bow his way out of the room, the atmosphere awkward and disconcerting, and then finally just drops his head into his hands.

What do all these points even mean, System?

…Yes. Yes, I would, if that will explain this whole confusing mess!

<Beginner’s Tips have been activated! Additional Mode: Character File Recognition has also been activated. New characters will now appear with their names provided by the system, in the event that Character: Thenerassan would be able to recognize them. For a cost of an additional 100 points, Easy Mode may be activated. Warning: current point levels insufficient to make payment. Regarding point system: actions furthering project goals generate points. Lock violations or insufficient story progress will incur penalties. Negative point status will result in Participant’s ejection from the project.>

Ejection from the project…?

In other words, then, if his points go into the negatives, he’ll be sent back home.

Where he’s… dead.

And what happens if I die during the course of this project? He wonders, thinking of the chilling prospect of Thenerassan’s canonical fate.

Death of the Participant will result in ejection from the project.

So… death, again.

Thenvunin lets out a shaky breath.

He would… yes, he would definitely rather avoid that, all things considered. But by the time a healer - whose name Thenerassan apparently would not have bothered to know - comes to his chambers, he doesn’t feel much closer to regaining his equilibrium.

Thenvunin takes an entire day to rest from his ‘mysterious illness’. In the evening, one of his disciples comes with something more substantial for him to eat. Desire, or ‘Squish’, as the narrative had nicknamed her. She is a pleasant girl, and a teenager, though how old she exactly is would depend on when he’s arrived on this scene. Assuming it’s prior to Uthvir’s descent into hell, she could be anywhere between fourteen and nineteen. Thenerassan - the original - had lusted after this girl, behaving inappropriately the entire time. Seeing the girl come into his rooms, Thenvunin is appalled twice-over by that particular story element. Here Thenerassan was supposed to be her mentor, but he had scarcely seemed to teach her anything except that authority figures weren’t to be trusted! And then she had joined Uthvir’s harem, all full of scandals and intrigue, and… admittedly, Thenvunin had rather lost track of her character after that.

He didn’t recall her has terribly complex. Mostly just sweet, and devoted, a simple ‘childhood friend’ style love-interest. Though he’s surprised when she comes in, and he notices that she lacks the typical ‘dainty’ appearance of such a girl. Instead she is heavy-set and… well, fat. With a round face and broad nose, and a tumble of curly dark hair. She is still quite beautiful, and obviously more than strong enough to handle the training at the peak, but Thenvunin doesn’t recall imagining her this way at all from her description.

Then again, Half-Demon Prince, the author, hadn’t been as typically prone to describing the female characters’ measurements and ‘charms’ as most writers in the genre. There had been a lot of fanart… perhaps the standard interpretation of this character was based more on a popular fanartist’s work, than on all the possibilities contained in her description?

But then, why should the ‘project’ choose an atypical interpretation, rather than the most common one?

He supposes that all has to do with how the system even works, and on that front, it has remained entirely silent.

“Teacher, will this meal do?” Squish asks him. Respectful, but a little distant.

It suddenly strikes Thenvunin - Squish was Uthvir’s only childhood friend. The protagonist. If he is to survive this ordeal, it seems absolutely paramount that Uthvir not want to kill him.

“This meal is fine,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He focuses intently on Squish’s face. “Tell me, how old are you this year?”

For a moment, he’s almost afraid that the system will tell him that was out-of-character. But it remains silent, and Squish’s expression turns somewhat reluctant.

“Sixteen,” she tells him.

Sixteen… which makes Uthvir fifteen. Three years. Thenvunin has three years to undo Uthvir’s hatred of him. But this also means that Uthvir has already spent two years around the Original Thenerassan. Being bullied, being starved, being beaten, being left out in the cold… Thenvunin pales at the thought of all the rampant child abuse. His only, minor consolation is that Thenerassan hadn’t liked to dirty his own hands. He had preferred to simply encourage the other disciples’ bullying, or to dole out punishments that simply resulted in Uthvir’s misfortune, by doing things like handing out complicated assignments too close to curfew. The other Thenerassan had been concerned with appearances, at least, and the reputation of his sect. It was probably the only reason why he hadn’t just immediately tossed his poor disciple off the mountain.

“My parents have said that they will outright refuse all petitions for my hand until I am twenty,” Squish says, jarring Thenvunin out of his thoughts.

He blinks at her.

“Sensible of them,” he replies.

Oh, for-!

He doesn’t bother to ask what that is about, realizing in a rush of nausea that this interaction must seem like he is digging into his student’s personal business to figure out if he can browbeat her family into handing her over to him. What a sick man the original truly was! He has to fight the urge to clarify things, knowing it will only cost him at the moment.

How many points do I have left? He wonders.

He isn’t entirely addressing the system, but it answers for him anyway.

Since he got here, he’s only managed to lose points…

Squish stares mildly back at him. He lets out a breath.

“Do you know where Disciple Uthvir is?” he asks, attempting to sound as neutral as possible. Neutral cannot really be out of character, right? If Thenerassan was always spitting furious every time he mentioned Uthvir’s name, surely the other mentors at the peak would have had to notice?

Thankfully, that assessment seems correct, as there is no warning or ‘ding’.

Squish’s expression turns wary.

“They’re still doing the tasks you assigned them this morning,” she replies. “They’ve been working as hard as they can.”

Thenvunin purses his lips. Scowling, but not at his student; he’s just trying to figure out how he can start to repair things, when one of the most concrete aspects of Thenerassan’s character was his ardent hatred of all things Uthvir.

“Send them here,” he decides.

<Warning->

How can it be OOC? This is entirely self-serving! He argues. If I don’t get on Uthvir’s good side, I’ll die horribly. If the original Thenerassan knew that, don’t you think he’d start being nicer, too?

Thenvunin swallows.

The food on the lovely tray in front of him makes him slightly nauseous. Squish looks suspicious, but after a moment, she can only nod obediently and leave to go get Uthvir. She looks as though she might say something to him, for a moment. But after a moment passes, she only shakes her head, and then leaves.

So now he needs to think of something that the original Thenerassan would do, that will put a stop to all these abuses - or at least, begin to - without losing him any further points. He has no idea how difficult it will be to regain points, since he hasn’t gained any so far. And that ‘Easy Mode’ that the system mentioned before seems like the sort of thing he might like to unlock, but he’s definitely not going to do so when it will bring his point total remotely close to 'zero'.

By the time Uthvir shows up, the food has gone cold, but Thenvunin thinks he might have happened on a solution. He has moved from his rest bed to his desk, unable to sit still. But he finds himself somewhat frozen again when he finally sees them.

Uthvir.

The terrible demonic tyrant who will eventually slaughter hundreds. Who will build a massive harem of beautiful lovers, all vying for their affections. The sharp, dangerous, deadly protagonist of ‘Immortal Demon Way’.

…But, they’re just a child.

Or a teenager, but Thenvunin’s a legal adult and feels very adult compared to the tiny figure who walks into his chambers. They’ve cut their hair, he notes. He forgets what age they did that at in the story, but thinking on it, it probably wasn’t long after they arrived on the peak. Their uniform is ill-fitting but clean, pulled from standard storage. They have large, red eyes, and soft features. Really, they look younger than fifteen.

But what catches most of his attention is the large blemish on the top of their cheek, and the ugly cut at the corner of their jaw.

Thenvunin stares at them while they shift in place. Waiting to see what kind of torment he has in store for them, no doubt.

I can’t do this. How can I be cruel to a child?

<Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert.>

After a moment, Thenvunin clears his throat, and reminds himself of his plan. He makes certain his features retain a cold look, with great effort, as he reaches into a pocket of his robes, and retrieves a little jar of healing salve that the healer left with him. Uthvir’s wary expression does not abate as he tosses it to them; but with their reflexes, of course they catch it.

“It is disgraceful for one of my disciples to go around looking like that,” he declares, lifting his chin and pursing his lips to keep from saying anything else. Poor thing, poor thing, oh you poor little thing… “From now on, there will be no more transgressions to call my good character and teaching into question.”

Uthvir seems to pale at his assertions.

“Teacher,” they say, hurriedly. “Please don’t turn me out. I swear, I will not - I will not provoke them anymore. I know I have been slow at learning how not to, but I think I have made progress... I will redouble my efforts! Please, I have nowhere else to go...”

Thenvunin frowns at their fright, before realizing that Uthvir does not recognize what the healing salve is; they probably think he’s conjuring up an excuse to kick them out of the sect. But even Thenerassan couldn’t really do that - despite his best efforts, Uthvir’s acceptance onto the mountain was the doing of Mana’Din, the Peak Leader.

“Don’t be foolish,” he snaps, and they fall immediately silent. “Do you not even know what a healing salve looks like?”

The OOC Warning remains mercifully silent, but Thenvunin feels like he is dying on the inside.

Uthvir stares uncomprehendingly down at the little jar he gave them.

“This… is healing salve?”

They don’t even know what it looks like! I can smell it from here, but they’re clueless?! They’ve never seen it before?!

Come to that, Thenvunin hadn’t seen it before, either. But apparently he still has some sense memories from the Original… which would also explain why his coordination isn’t completely shot, even if he still feels like a ghost sitting in someone else’s body.

Uthvir doesn’t have the excuse of transporting themselves between worlds, though. They should know what a salve smells like even better than he does. Or they would, if Half-Demon Prince hadn’t given them such a reprehensibly deprived childhood. The realization makes his heart crack in half.

“I expect you to use it,” he says.

He braces himself…

At the ominous ‘ding’ in his mind he nearly dies inside; but to his surprise, the system’s tone isn’t its usual ‘points deducted’ one. It takes him a moment to really register what it’s saying.

<Congratulations! Points toward Achievement: Character Development earned, +10.>

...How many points do I need to get the achievement?

<Beginner’s Tip: Achievements are unlocked at 100 points gained, determined from the moment achievement challenge is set..>

That’s… that’s not so bad, actually. Thenvunin would almost feel good about it, if he hadn’t just been unreasonably cold and cruel to an injured teenager.

...He's going to have to do this at least ten more times. He takes it back, this is terrible.

But Uthvir looks uncomprehendingly at the salve for a moment longer. Before they seem to remember that they’re in the same room as their villainous instructor, and then quickly drop into a bow.

“Thank you, Teacher,” they say.

“Hmph,” Thenvunin replies. “You can go.”

Uthvir doesn’t waste any time in getting away, probably grateful to escape without having something unpleasant happen to them. Once they’re gone, Thenvunin drops back onto his bed, and puts his face into his hands. His shoulders shake, as tears begin to form in his eyes, and spill through the cracks of his fingers.

It’s just a story, he tells himself. Even if it’s different to experience it firsthand, all these people are just characters in a book. It’s not really real.

Is it?

Thenvunin manages to knock his point totals down to 65 before he finally begins to feel confident in manipulating the OOC Locks. Though he still hasn’t managed to earn any new points, he’s figured out some things about the system, and how they seem to be lost.

For one thing, witnesses are required. Thenvunin can do any number of out-of-character things in private, but the system will only notify him of a ‘ding’ if there’s someone present to see it. Which is a good thing, because Thenvunin finds himself breaking down in private quite a bit. The system will also generally warn him if there’s someone liable to witness his out-of-character moments - and whatever else might be said, he does appreciate that. Particularly when he’s been weeping in his rooms, and one of his disciples or another immortal from the peak is on their way to find him.

It’s not that he’s thoroughly miserable, though. It’s just a lot to take in.

Quiet Peak is a really beautiful place. Thenvunin doesn’t think he’s ever been anywhere so lovely before in his life. The peak is situated in a long chain of mystical mountains, and is one of several sacred peaks where spiritualists who have achieved immortality live and congregate. It’s a place replete with nature. Thenvunin’s home is one of several small buildings - almost a village unto itself - situated around a large main temple. It’s summer when he arrives, so the air is clear and warm, with the occasional cool breeze whirling its way around the mountain paths. Lots of small animals fill up the natural spaces of the area. Birds and rodents, foxes and stranger, more fantastical creatures from Half-Demon Prince’s imagination, like Phantom Lemurs and wolves made of branches and vines, held together by ambient nature energy.

To a normal person, some of the animals would probably be quite dangerous. But Thenvunin’s body, as he ascertains, is more than just fit and healthy. He seems to have all the supernatural powers of the immortals in the story. Along with a mystical sword that the original Thenerassed would have pulled from the peak, a blade that was manifested from his own innate energies.

Thenerassan - or rather, Half-Demon Prince - had called the blade ‘Swan’s Grace’. It’s one decision of the old Thenerassan’s that Thenvunin doesn’t mind. The name seems to suit the sword, which rests easily in his grasp, even though he’s never held a sword before in his life. It’s a beautiful thing. Pale and elegant, with a white handle, and a purple tassel tied with enchanted beads that help bolster spiritual energy.

It’s one thing for Thenvunin to know that his body seems to remember how to do some things, though, and another for him to really feel comfortable doing them. The more Thenvunin thinks about upcoming events, the more he finds himself sweating under his collar. There are battles to be fought. Actual battles. Situations where making even the tiniest slip-up could result in death. Thenvunin doesn’t think it’s enough to simply rely on his reflexes, reflexes can’t provide strategies or help him think his way through more complicated situations, or really decide how to apply the skills that he - apparently - now has.

So, when the Peak Leader, Mana’Din, comes to investigate his ‘recovery’ from his mysterious illness, Thenvunin doesn’t waste much time before requesting access to some of the secluded mountain caves that are used for those attempting higher levels of cultivation. Or attempting to regain spiritual equilibrium. He remembers the caves from the books; they were frequently mentioned, and Uthvir even retreated to them on occasion, when a difficult battle had depleted their strength.

Mana’Din is, like Squish, quite different from what Thenvunin had expected, but still well within the bounds of her character description. The Peak Leader is a petite woman, dark-skinned and placid in her countenance. She wears a white half-mask, and an elegant white robe, and regards Thenvunin with what seems to be genuine concern. Almost immediately, he likes her. Though sensing the amount of energy contained within her aura is somewhat disconcerting; Peak Leaders are very strong, of course. Mana’Din is no exception.

In the original story, she was yet another character who died at Uthvir’s hands. Though, more tragically than the original Thenerassan. Uthvir had challenged her for control of the peak. Mana’Din had fought gallantly, but in the end, after all that had led to that moment, the peak’s forces were so weakened that she was no match for a full-powered and determined Uthvir. She as one of the few female characters in the story who actually died, rather than simply falling into Uthvir’s harem after being defeated. Some readers had been quite unhappy about that.

As he invites her to take his morning tea with him, Thenvunin feels another pang of inexplicable guilt. The original Thenerassan’s machinations were a huge component to the weakening of the peak - and to Mana’Din’s inevitable downfall.

“Venavismi told me about your collapse. I came to check on you while you were still unconscious. Forgive me, I would have come to check as soon as you woke, but preparations in the valley took longer than expected.”

Preparations in the…?

Oh! Thenvunin’s pleased to realize that he actually knows what Mana’Din is referring to. The tournament, still scheduled a few years from now, will take place in the valley south of Quiet Peak. Because of the potential dangers of the event, the Peak Lords themselves oversee all the preparations, creating shields and checking the security, and making certain that all possible precautions can be taken. It’s a long endeavour, which is why tournaments are not held more frequently. As an expert in placing barriers, Mana’Din’s skills in particular would be required.

The thought of how badly the tournament still goes puts another twinge of guilt in Thenvunin. He has to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning that extra security will most definitely be needed.

“Are things going well?” he asks, instead.

Mana’Din waves dismissively.

“Of course,” she says. “I’m more concerned over you. I don’t know whether it’s good news or bad news that the healers seem baffled by what’s happened. Do you think it was some sort of attack?”

Thenvunin clears his throat, and shakes his head.

“It did not seem that way to me, though it was… disconcerting,” he replies. Lifting his tea cup, he takes a slow sip. The warm liquid helps to settle his nerves a little, as he prepares his rehearsed lines. “My concern is for the equilibrium of my internal energies. Healers may not notice everything on such a front. If my leader is willing, I would like to retreat to the Secluded Caves, to better attune myself to what may be going on within my body.”

He braces himself. But fortunately, Thenerassan had generally worn a mask of courtesy around his leader; there is no ‘ding’.

Mana’Din makes a contemplative sound, and then inclines her head.

“If you think that would help, then certainly,” she says. “I will gladly open the caves to you. But do you think there is a chance you could unbalance your energies? You should not be left to go alone, in that case.”

Mana’Din is blunt. Thenerassan would have taken offense at the implication that he could unbalance his own energies via meditation, but Thenvunin can only see genuine concern in her expression. Spiritual unbalancing is very dangerous. It can lead to explosive and self-destructive behaviour, as well as lashing out. Left unchecked, it can, as he recalls, cause madness, permanently damage an immortal’s abilities, or even lead to death. And while the original Thenerassan may have been an immortal of indeterminate age, who was very accustomed to cultivating his internal energies, Thenvunin himself is… not.

However, his inexperience could be glaringly obvious to any witnesses who see him try to practice. And if people start to become suspicious, then it could lead to his discovery as an intruder, and then the dreaded ‘project reset’.

Thenvunin’s not sure what the bigger risk is. He hesitates.

Mana’Din seems to read his silence as offense. She lifts a hand.

“Please don’t mistake my concern for doubt. This is a mysterious situation, so, taking some exceptional precautions may be wise,” she tells him. When Thenvunin hesitates again, she purses her lips, and taps the side of her teacup. “Perhaps a compromise? There are certain segments of the cave system that are more open than others. Many of Battle Peak’s disciples are currently using them in early preparation for the tournament. In the event of some calamity, being in that system would probably make it easier to find help, rather than simply using the more traditional caves allotted to our peak…”

The original Thenerassan would have found such a suggestion offensive, Thenvunin thinks again. But would he have protested to his leader? Complaining might seem uglier than just capitulating, or even taking advantage of the situation. Something niggles at the back of his memory. Something about Thenerassan and the caves and Battle Peak… but he doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it, as Mana’Din looks at him expectantly.

He puts on a tight smile.

“I suppose, under the circumstances, that would be reasonable,” he concedes.

Mana’Din relaxes a little, and offers him a more genuine smile in return.

“That’s a relief. I’ll worry a little less, now,” she approves. Nothing dings. Thenvunin lets out a silent breath, and sips more of his tea.

Really, Thenvunin can’t help but think. How did it escape your notice that the original Thenerassan wouldn’t have been worth worrying about to begin with?

He doesn’t ask that out loud, though, of course. Despite his repugnant nature, the original Thenerassan currently retains a spotless reputation, marred only by occasion rumours of his ‘harsh’ teaching methods. And that reputation is currently very useful to Thenvunin, who is not looking to ruin it by being an actual child-abusing monster. Even if the system is making that challenging for him.

Mana’Din tells him he can set out for the caves in a few days’ time, after she has established things with Battle Peak. That’s a good development, he thinks, but it still leaves the matter of Uthvir up in the air.

While Thenvunin has been doing what he can to try and mitigate the bullying going on, it’s an uphill battle with the OOC Locks tying his hands. The original Thenerassan had a lot of disciples, though, as Thenvunin recalls, most of them will die as cannon fodder during the tournament. The thought makes him sick to his stomach. Even if they’re mostly a gang of bullies, barring Squish and Uthvir, they’re still children. Well, teenagers. And they’re following the lead set for them by their teacher. Thenvunin is a bit lost at sea on what to do about it all. However, he knows for certain that if he leaves things just as they are, with the senior disciples in charge, it won’t go well for Uthvir.

The trouble is figuring out how he can mitigate that without breaking character.

He’s still turning the matter over in his thoughts later the same day, when he finally decides that, caves or no, he needs to get some practice in.

Despite his lingering troubles with adjusting to having a totally new body, the fact that he actually has energy and a shocking absence of pain keeps making him antsy. All the beautiful nature around him, the strength in his limbs, the air in his lungs, it makes him want to do things. His fingers itch to see what the sword at his belt can do. His heart speeds up at the thought of actually being a warrior, a guardian, someone who can fight and protect people and be gallant and strong. The giddiness he feels over it is even enough to push back his worries about dying, and he finds he doesn’t feel any guilt at all in basically stealing all of these things from the original Thenerassan.

With all that in mind, Thenvunin sets out before evening to find a more secluded spot on the mountain. He has to travel for a while to do it, heading down and into the woods, with Swan’s Grace on his person. The sword feels light, and he finds he often notices its absence more than its presence. He wears green robes that blend in with the pale leaves of the willowy trees that grown in the region, and passes over a woodland stream, before finally finding a good spot.

After triple-checking to make certain that he’s alone, Thenvunin draws his sword, and takes a deep breath.

He swings it.

It slices elegantly through the air.

Another swing. His body remembers motions that Thenvunin has never made before, and after a few more attempts, he finds himself falling into patterns that feel natural. Sword-fighting forms. He pays attention to the way his body moves, or tries to. But it’s exhilarating enough that he soon finds himself distracted by the sheer joy of it all. Swan’s Grace sings, metal through wind, and as his spirits rise Thenvunin finds flurries of air whip up around him. The original Thenerassan was strongly attuned to the wind element. It seems Thenvunin is, too, as the gusts of wind follow his movements, and make the fallen leaves around him dance.

He is so enraptured, he never even notices the tiny figure who stumbles upon him. Arms burdened with firewood, eyes wide as they see their teacher practicing his forms.

Uthvir freezes in place and stares dumbfounded for a moment.

They have seen Master Thenerassan demonstrate techniques before, of course, but such demonstrations have tended to be very simple and mechanical so far. Put your feet here, hold your practice sword like this, sit this way, don’t move like that, and so on and so forth. They have yet to actually see their instructor fight - and of course, they still haven’t. But as they watch, they feel a sudden insight as to what that might look like, and it seems somehow wholly unexpected.

If they ever had to guess, Uthvir would never suppose that Master Thenerassan’s techniques were so… so…

Lovely?

They feel almost like a voyeur, somehow. As if they have stumbled upon the man bathing rather than practicing. The most shocking thing is probably the look on his face, though. From their angle Uthvir can only see part of it, but it seems as if Master Thenerassan is smiling. Smiling as he dances with the wind and strikes out with his sword, moving through forms so complex that Uthvir can only even recognize half of them.

Something in their chest aches with longing.

They want to be that graceful, and powerful. They want to be a master who can rely on their own strength.

They watch, fascinated, until it starts to occur to them that if Master Thenerassan is out practicing in the wilderness by himself, he probably doesn’t want to be seen. Maybe there are some secret techniques that he’s doing? Uthvir’s fear of getting in trouble gradually starts to overcome their interest, and they pull back, retreating the same way they came by and being careful to walk in the footprints they already made, to avoid stepping on twigs or crunching leaves. Every once in a while they glance back, unable to help themselves until Thenerassan is finally out of sight. Then they resolutely keep going, as their heart hammers excitedly in their chest.

They feel as though they have just gotten away with some kind of mischief. Even though, taken at face value, they don’t even know what they mischief would qualify as.

Master Thenerassan could probably enlighten them if he actually caught them, though. And probably assign them even more chores as punishment. Sneering at them from behind his fan.

Although… he seems to be more patient with Uthvir than usual, these days. Maybe Uthvir is actually making fewer mistakes? They’ve found the thought very heartening, even if the other disciples still seem to hate them as much as ever. Except for Squish, of course. Master Thenerassan gave her a new training manual the other day, and she promised to let Uthvir look at it, too. They were going to go this evening, but then Elandaris cornered them and told them to go find firewood.

A lot of the older students shirk their chores onto Uthvir. At first, they’d hoped doing things would be a good way to make friends, but it seems they’re always doing them wrong. Uthvir’s not entirely clueless, although sometimes it feels as though they are. They like to think that it’s the amnesia at fault. The first thing they can recall in life is running, confused, out into the road in one of the southern cities, and nearly falling straight into Lady Mana’Din. They don’t even know how they came by their amnesia; they were first brought to Quiet Peak as a mystery to solve, rather than a disciple to train. The only belonging of any real value that they can claim is the necklace they were wearing at the time Lady Mana’Din found them.

Uthvir never takes it off. They’re deathly afraid of having it stolen. The simple leather cord it’s on is nothing special, but the amber-gold stone, rough and uncut, always feels a little warm against their skin. Lady Mana’Din thinks it might be a Spirit Shard. The only other person they’ve ever shown it to is Squish, and she likes it a lot, too. Uthvir knows she’d be thrilled if they gave it to her, but they can’t bring themselves to part with it. Even if they don’t know why, it’s… theirs.

As if drawn to the current of their thoughts, the necklace in question slides out from under their over-sized collar. Uthvir pauses, shifting the firewood in their arms so that they can reach up and tuck it away again.

“Hey!”

They look up, startled, at the sound of an unwelcome voice.

Elandaris!

Hastily, Uthvir finishes shoving their treasure away again, and takes a wary step backwards. They nearly lose their balance, burdened with the firewood in their arms. Elandaris seems to be alone; they don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I’ve nearly finished,” they say.

“Took you long enough,” Elandaris replies, marching determinedly towards them. He points at their chest. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Uthvir asks, playing dumb. “The branches…?”

Before they can react, Elandaris reaches out, whip-fast, and yanks the piece of cord around their neck. Uthvir fumbles and their treasure pops back out of their collar, as their heart speeds up.

Oh no!

The older boy’s expression twists in a mix of anger and triumph as he reaches for the spirit shard. Uthvir manages to whirl away in earnest then, though, dropping the firewood they’re carrying. To their horror, the branches and logs fall directly onto Elandaris’ feet.

A disciple of Elandaris’ level isn’t going to be as fragile as most mortals, so Elandaris is at little risk of having his foot bones broken. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still a painful thing to have an armload of wood dropped right onto his shoes.

“I’m sorry!” Uthvir immediately exclaims. Elandaris reels back, cursing, before his face twists in anger and he lashes out and punches Uthvir clean across the face.

The force behind the blow is more than enough to send them staggering.

“You clumsy oaf!” Elandaris exclaims. “How dare you! You could have injured my feet. That would set my training back. Are you trying to sabotage me?!”

“No!” Uthvir assures him, spreading out their hands. “No, of course not! I would never! It was an accident, you grabbed me and-”

“Clumsy piece of shit!” Elandaris accuses again. “Either you did that on purpose, or you are a waste of training! Come back here!”

Uthvir’s attempts to move further away are thwarted by Elandaris grabbing them. They try and counter his grip, but the older student is faster, and pulls at their treasure instead.

“And where did you get this?” he demands.

“It’s mine!” Uthvir insists, reflexively.

“Yours? Where would you get a spirit shard?” Elandaris demands. “Even a cheap-looking one like this should be beyond the means of a beggar’s child like you. And don’t tell me someone gave it to you! I know no one would. You have no coin and you have no friends, so the only answer is that you stole it.”

“I didn’t steal it!”

Elandaris hits them in punishment. Uthvir knows they shouldn’t argue, but this is their treasure. If Elandaris thinks they stole it then he’ll take it away.

“I didn’t steal it!” they insist, through the pain. “It’s always been mine, it was found with me, Lady Mana’Din knows!”

“Liar!” Elandaris accuses. He tugs at the cord, and Uthvir struggles back. A few well-placed kicks send them falling backwards, though. Despite their efforts to train their skills, the extra chores that are always being given to them take up most of the time they would spend practicing. They are behind; they know it. And they don’t have much recourse, though their heart lurches in pure alarm as they feel the ties on their leather cord finally give out.

Elandaris seizes their treasure.

Uthvir falls down, and trips over the dropped firewood.

“No!” they protest, scrambling to get back up. “It’s mine, it’s not-”

“Shut up, you little liar!” Elandaris snaps back, and lands a kick against their stomach. Uthvir grabs his leg, too desperate to back down. They scramble to try and reclaim their necklace. The defiance makes Elandaris even more furious, however, and after a moment they are both rolling through the undergrowth. Uthvir loses track of where their treasure even is, if it’s been dropped or if the older student still has it, as Elandaris gets them pinned and begins pummeling them.

“How dare you!” he snarls. “You sneaky little thief!”

Uthvir tries to cover their face, finally going purely on the defensive. They brace themselves for the beating.

But Elandaris only lands a few uncoordinated hits before he suddenly stops; crying out in pain.

Bewildered, Uthvir risk looking again.

Elandaris is holding his hands up. But there is a large, crimson gash on the back of one of his wrists.

“How did you do that?” he demands, shocked at the sight of his own blood. “Did you stab me?!”

Uthvir swiftly shakes their head.

“How could I?” they ask.

It must be the wrong thing to say, though, because Elandaris just looks angrier. Like he thinks they must be tricking him. Uthvir only feels confused as he lefts his fists again. They brace themselves, but this time they keep watching. So they see quite clearly as his hands come down, and…

A leaf.

A simple leaf, being carried on a swift wind, whips by and slashes Elandaris’ hands again, before he can bring them down to hit. He lets out another cry of pain, and finally scrabbles back off of Uthvir. Bleeding from both hands.

“What are you doing?!” he wails. “You’ve cut me! You wretch! How did you cut me?”

“It’s not me doing it,” Uthvir tries to explain, raising placating hands. “It’s…”

The leaves?

They glance down to the ground, and the two unbroken, perfectly-shaped, but blood-edged leaves lying not too far away. There are techniques that can make even flower petals as sharp as darts, especially in the hands of wind practitioners, Uthvir knows. They’ve read as much as they can, when they’re able to. But in that case…

There’s only one person who could do this sort of thing.

If Master Thenerassan wanted to stop Elandaris, though, he could simply come and tell him to stop?

This must be a lesson, then. Or a test. Uthvir curses their own stupidity, as they wonder what the correct response is. They never seem to know the right answer with these things. But if Master Thenerassan doesn’t want his presence to be known, then… it’s probably better not to tell Elandaris?

Maybe Elandaris is supposed to figure things out for himself? He is also a student, after all.

Uthvir remains silent, and the two of them fall into a wary stand-off. After a moment, they push themselves back to their feet.

“Give me back my treasure,” they demand, helpless to let the matter go.

Elandaris’ expression twists. He looks down, but then, to Uthvir’s growing dismay, seems to realize that he doesn’t still have it.

“I dropped it,” he tells them. Then he lifts his chin. “Which is just lucky for you, because if I hadn’t I’d be taking it to Master Thenerassan right now, and you’d be getting kicked off the mountain for thieving.”

Uthvir balls their fists, but doesn’t dare make a move. The corners of their eyes itch.

“I’m not a thief!”

For a moment, they think Elandaris is going to try and beat them some more. But there’s blood still pouring from his cuts, and the sight of it seems to make him hesitate instead. After a tense second, he turns on his heel.

“You just wait,” he says. “I’m telling Master Thenerassan all about this anyway, about how you tried to break my feet and bloodied my poor hands. And then that’ll finally be the end of you!”

On that note, Elandaris races off. Uthvir thinks they would be terrified of his claims, except…

Except, Master Thenerassan must alright know. Mustn’t he?

And he… he stopped Elandaris.

They just feel confused, as they pause and look around. No matter how they search, though, they can’t seem to see their teacher anywhere. They give up looking for him after a minute - if he doesn’t want to be found, they don’t suppose they stand much of a chance - and instead start searching for the necklace. Their ribs and stomach and face all hurt from Elandaris’ blows, but they can’t just leave it behind. They try and retrace things, but even though they search high and low, pulling aside plants and checking around stumps, and even looking in spots that seem unlikely places, they can’t find it before the sun begins to set.

Their treasure…

Uthvir is so disconsolate, they finally slump on the ground, and let a few tears escape.

“I lost it,” they whisper. “I’m so sorry…”

They aren’t even sure who they’re apologizing to. The words just seem to fly out on their own. They take a minute to cry, holding themselves upright on shaky limbs. Before they finally sigh, and resign themselves to the truth. They still have to bring the firewood back. And now that they’ve lost so much time, they’ll probably have to spend all of tomorrow making up the difference on their chores. The ones they can’t do in the dark, anyway. They sniffle, and brush off their cheeks. Trying to dry their eyes as they finally pick up the dropped firewood, and then stagger back towards the mountain path.

Into their pockets, they tuck a pair of blood-stained leaves.

Thenvunin feels like he must be the worst person in the world.

He had been surprised when his practice had been interrupted by voices. Raised in argument, by the sounds of it. For half a second he was irrationally afraid that he had been caught, and that something about his practice had been so inherently wrong that he was on the verge of being discovered. But then he’d realized the voices were further off than that. And then he’d recognized them, too.

Uthvir and… Elandaris.

Oh no.

As he hurried over, Thenvunin found himself recollecting the scene he was encountering. If it was the one he suspected, anyway. The one where Elandaris stole Uthvir’s precious necklace, the only remnant of their forgotten, tragic past. The one item that could still bring warmth to their cold heart, even when they were at the height of their dark ways.

In the original story, Uthvir had eventually regained the necklace when Elandaris died in the tournament.

Thenvunin watches as the two students struggle through the undergrowth, though, and sees the necklace in question stuck in the middle of a nearby fern. From his angle it’s quite clearly visible. The golden shard is a bright bit of light in the dark green foliage. Most of his attention is soon caught by the fight, however, and his first impulse merits several insistent warnings from the system.

Thenvunin’s fists clench and unclench. Thenerassan wouldn’t have stopped Uthvir’s mistreatment.

System, how many points will I lose for just marching out there and stopping it anyway?

What?! 40 points? He only has sixty-five as it is! That would… that would put him so close to complete failure…

His mouth goes dry. Is he really just going to stand here and watch this happen?

No. No, there has to be a way to interfere. Even if he can’t stop it directly, there must be something he can do. He thinks. There’s a technique, he remembers. It was one of the cooler things about the original Thenerassan, in with all his depravity and scumbag qualities. Precision was something he was actually good at. He could whip around tiny things with enough speed and subtlety to make even the most innocuous strips of paper or blades of grass into weapons.

Of course, the original had mostly used this to inflict secret torments on Uthvir. Thenvunin can only hope it will work in reverse, as he plucks a leaf from a nearby tree. Keeping out of sight, he lifts the leaf to mouth, and blows. The first attempt goes wide of the mark, though. Drawing in a determined breath, Thenvunin grabs another one, and tries again. As Elandaris raises his fists, Thenvunin focuses precisely on where he wants the wind to carry the leaf. He feels the energy in his body, and the energy in the world around himself. And just like that, it feels as if he is remembering how to do something, rather than learning it for the first time.

The leaf slashes Elandaris.

Thenvunin is a little shocked at how much blood it draws. His bullying disciple pales, shocked in turn at the sudden blow.

Even so, Thenvunin doesn’t hesitate to send the second leaf. Uthvir looks as though they’ve been through the wringer. Elandaris finally backs off at that, but Thenvunin frowns deeply at his tirade. Already wondering how to manage that upcoming situation. He thinks he can handle it, though, so long as he focuses on Elandaris’ own misconduct. After all, the original Thenerassan would have known that Uthvir had some possessions, and that accusing them of stealing such things wouldn’t hold any water. He probably just would have been annoyed that Elandaris was wasting his time with information that he couldn’t use.

But then he hears an ominous ding.

What?! But - but, how? It was only a couple of leaves! Neither Uthvir nor Elandaris could possibly know who sent them!

System, I object! There’s no way that should have counted towards a deduction!

But no one even knows it was me!

Thenvunin feels sick. 45. He’s down to 45 points now, and all he’s earned so far is 10. This is a nightmare! He keeps still, fretting over having less than half his starting points, as Uthvir begins to search around for their lost treasure. It takes him a few minutes to even register what they’re doing. And when he does, he feels another lurch in his gut.

There, he thinks at them. Keeping his hiding place, yet trying, at the same time, to mentally project some knowledge of the necklace’s location towards them. It’s right there! Look over there, Uthvir, come on, you can find it!

He could just pick it up and give it to them. But he absolutely can’t, he knows. The thought of losing any more points right now just makes him feel sick to his stomach. So instead he stays locked in place, while he watches Uthvir search and search, their bruises purpling from where Elandaris hit them. Do they still have healing salve left? He tries to think of ways he could get them more, at least, to keep from cracking and doing something impossibly foolish. But he feels as if he is on the verge of it anyway, when Uthvir drops to the ground and begins to cry.

Oh, no! Thenvunin thinks, swallowing hard as his own vision goes a little blurry. Oh, no, Uthvir, it’s alright, it will be alright…

He doesn’t know how he manages to withstand it, until Uthvir finally gathers up the firewood, and limps off alone.

It’s only when they’re gone that he moves himself. Walking quietly over to the fern, and plucking the spirit shard necklace up from where it had been dropped.

<Congratulations! A pivotal scene has been completed. Important Item: Uthvir’s Treasure has been obtained. +100 points awarded. Achievement: Character Development has been obtained! OOC Restriction Lock has been removed.>

Thenvunin is so struck by relief at the sudden, unexpected points gain, that he almost doesn’t notice the necklace vanishing from his hands. But an object just vanishing is actually strange enough that it almost immediately distracts him from the bizarre rush of success.

Wait, system! He protests. Where did it go?

He has to get that back to Uthvir, somehow!

<Beginner’s Tip: Important Items may be stored within the system until Participant decides to use them.>

Thenvunin blinks.

So… you have the necklace?

There’s no answer, but that seems to be the correct assumption.

System, could you please give it back?

He’s thinking he might just be able to sneak it back into Uthvir’s possession, somehow, before he gets a response.

What?! Thenvunin draws in a ragged breath, and then lets out it again. He lifts up a hand to rub at his face. What sort of system even is this? He only just earned those points! And without them he’ll be down to less than half again. And will it undo his achievement? He… he can’t…

He swallows.

…No, he finally answers the system. He can work this out. He’ll get Uthvir their treasure back, it’ll just… take a bit longer than expected. All he has to do is earn enough points to feel comfortable, and then he can spare the 100 points needed to return it. And in the meanwhile, he can focus on making things better for them, now that he can actually act with some freedom. He’ll make it up to them later, he vows.

…Somehow.

The situation still seems bittersweet somehow, as he finally dusts himself off, and makes his own way back.

It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that the loss of their treasure leaves Uthvir disconsolate.

When they get back, they can’t even bring themselves to tell Squish. She just thinks Elandaris was picking on them again, and it takes a lot of effort for Uthvir to convince her not to go try and break his knees. But they’re already in enough trouble as it stands, and Elandaris has a lot more influence with Master Thenerassan than either Squish or Uthvir. Though…

In light of what happened with the leaves, Uthvir’s not sure what to make of the situation anymore.

Master Thenerassan doesn’t like them. They’ve known that since their first week of training, when he more or less told them so. Most of the disciples at the peak come from good families. Quiet Peak is very well-respected, and the potential to ascend to immortality and prominence is enough to catch a lot of people’s interest. Of course, not everyone has the aptitude or discipline for it. Even a prince wouldn’t be able to join the sect if he lacked the potential for training. But while Quiet Peak looks after its residents, serving the region also doesn’t exactly pay well. So all things considered, most of the applicants who get accepted come from families who have enough affluence to spare them, enough connections to actually get them there, and who also have the potential needed to be considered for training to begin with.

Sometimes, though, masters who are out on trips will cross paths with individuals who seem to have very noteworthy potential. These people can be of all sorts of backgrounds; what matters is just that they have the makings of a good disciple. According to the tenets of Quiet Peak’s sect, there shouldn’t be any discrimination of people based on where they came from originally. Once someone sets themselves to the path of ascension, then, one’s place along that path is more pivotal to rank and influence than their birthrights or privileges.

That’s not really how it works, though. Uthvir is one of only a few disciples with a poor background, and the only one serving Master Thenerassan. When Mana’Din had decided to offer them a place on the peak as a student, Master Thenerassan had warned Uthvir not to expect that the idealism of the tenets would shield them from reality - that someone like them, regardless of their spiritual potential, was a pity case. A servant more than a disciple, not somebody who could actually learn and achieve full mastery someday.

Uthvir wants to, though. Even if it’s unrealistic, even if it’s impossible, they want to be strong. They can’t help but think of what they saw in the trees, before they ran into Elandaris. Master Thenerassan, moving with the wind.

A knock on their door startles them out of their thoughts. Their arrival at the temple was unexpected, so, when they were first set up they were given an old wood shed for a room. Lady Mana’Din told them it was temporary, but they’ve been there ever since. Uthvir actually likes it, though. The thought of sleeping in the barracks, with the other disciples, makes them feel cold dread down their spine. Even if it was the same barracks as Squish, they’d probably never sleep soundly again.

When they call out to the knock, it’s Squish who opens the door. Uthvir relaxes a little, seeing their friend coming in with some clean bandages over one arm, and a lantern in one hand.

“It’s late,” they say.

Squish hangs the lantern up on the hook by the door, and shakes her head.

“I only brought a few things,” she says. “I won’t get in trouble, it’s Venavismi who’s on the evening watch tonight and he’s a soft touch.”

Uthvir swallows, but can’t really find the energy to argue. They cause a lot of trouble for Squish. She doesn’t say so, but the others have told them often enough. Even Master Thenerassan has said so.

“Here,” Squish says, handing them the bandages. “Do you still have that jar of salve?”

Uthvir reaches under their blanket, and grabs the little jar to confirm it.

Another strange thing, they think. Master Thenerassan is often scolding them for not meeting standards, but he doesn’t usually give them the means to do so, either. The salve is really good, too. Uthvir has to fight the temptation to use it all up, rationing themselves and making sure to cover up any injuries that would be visible, first. But it feels warm and smells spicy, and makes the aches fade away. Squish takes the jar from them, which has them frowning.

“Don’t use it all,” they warn.

“I’ll use just enough,” Squish assures them, and then sets about helping them tend their wounds.

It’s always been like this. When Uthvir first came to the peak, Squish looked at them like she’d seen a ghost. But then afterwards, she was always helping them. Even when other people were very clear that everything Uthvir did was wrong, Squish never turned away or stuck up her nose. They could only conclude that she was the kindest person in the world.

That made them think on the strangeness of Master Thenerassan’s behaviour again, though. So far as Uthvir could tell, no one had really changed their attitude towards them since they had arrived at the peak. Lady Mana’Din was kind, like Squish, but she also very busy. She said hello to Uthvir whenever she saw them - which wasn’t often. The other disciples were either indifferent to Uthvir, or else actively disliked them. Master Thenerassan despaired of them ever showing any talent, and was just waiting for them to make the final, crucial error that would finally let him get rid of them.

So why had he given them the salve? Maybe he really was just sick of looking at Uthvir’s bruises and thinking they were an embarrassment. What was going on with the leaves, though? And come to think of it… there have been other things, too. The past while he hasn’t given Uthvir any chores to do. The other disciples have, but not Master Thenerassan. He hasn’t snapped or snarled at them for a while, either, or boxed their ears for speaking out of turn.

It’s nothing really big - but it’s why Uthvir has been hopeful that they’ve been doing better.

So… have they?

Are things different because they’re finally getting some stuff right for a change?

The only trouble Uthvir can find with that thought, is that they don’t think they’ve been doing anything differently. It makes them anxious not to know what they might have done right, because if they can’t figure it out, then how can they keep doing it?

“Squish,” they ask, as she carefully applies a thin layer of salve to their bruised cheek. The tip of her tongue is pressing out, just a little bit, as she concentrates.

“Hmm?”

“Have you noticed anything… different, about Master Thenerassan lately?”

Squish pauses for a moment, frowning a little. She doesn’t like their chief instructor. Uthvir knows that, although she won’t tell them why. They’re almost expecting her to just tell them that she doesn’t want to talk about ‘that man’, like usual.

After a moment, though, her brow furrows a little bit.

“I have, actually. He seems less…” she trails off, and makes a face like she’s trying to think of a term suitable for a student referring to their teacher.

This is a frequent problem whenever Squish talks about Master Thenerassan.

“Shit?” Uthvir suggests.

Mostly to make her laugh. They’re just in the wood shed, after all.

And it works! Squish snorts, and grins a little. Then she seems to think about it, as she goes back to applying the salve, and shakes her head.

“Don’t say that where the others can hear. Disparaging our ‘illustrious’ teacher will just get us into trouble,” she warns.

“I know,” Uthvir says, quietly. “I was just joking. It’s a great honour to serve someone like Master Thenerassan.”

Squish snorts again.

“Don’t say that, either. It makes me want to point out all of his failings instead.” Switching to their other side, she starts rubbing some salve onto the bruises there. Uthvir holds still, and fights back a wince whenever her fingers brush over and especially sensitive spot.

“Lazy,” she mutters. “Insincere. Vain. He barely teaches, I don’t think he can take credit for the success of any of his students, even partially. He just treats us like servants, unless someone else is watching. I wish he’d fall off the peak so someone else would have to take us on instead.”

“Squish!” Uthvir protests. “That’s ungrateful!”

She gives them a flat look.

“I’m incredibly ungrateful for him,” she confirms. Uthvir wants to laugh, although they know they shouldn’t. It’s mostly her tone. Well, that, and the little voice inside their head that whispers that they’ve never liked Master Thenerassan very much either.

They used to. When they first arrived they thought he was magnificent. Regal and handsome, like a portrait of everything a master of Quiet Peak should be. That impression lasted for about five minutes.

Then he opened his mouth.

“But,” Squish says, tugging their shirt open to get at the bruises on their chest and stomach. Uthvir tries to stop her - they’ll waste salve - but she just bats their hands away and starts applying it anyhow. “You’re right. He does seem different, this past little while.”

Hmm.

So if Squish has noticed it, too, then maybe it’s not that Uthvir has actually gotten better at things?

“Do you think he had a revelation?” they wonder.

Their friend shrugs.

“I don’t know. I heard he fell down and hit his head. Maybe it’s a miraculous head bump situation, like in some stories? Something knocked a negative block out of his skull that’s gone unnoticed for decades, and now he’s finally able to channel ‘niceness’ again,” she jokes.

Uthvir gives that prospect some serious consideration, though. It might not be as silly as she’s making it sound. Oh, it wouldn’t be exactly that, obviously. But what studying Uthvir has done has taught them that spiritual energy can behave in really unpredictable ways. If it didn’t, then it would be a lot simpler for people to train and deliberately control it, cultivating it at a steady and consistent rate throughout all individuals. It would be like working with uniformly sized blocks, always knowing the measurements and therefore knowing how many you need in order to build what you want. But instead, it’s like growing a forest full of trees. You can know what kind of seeds you’re putting down, can try and get the trees to grow in certain ways, but in the end, no two forests will ever grow exactly the same.

And Uthvir has overheard a lot of stories, from everywhere around the peak, really. Things can get very quiet, so gossip is inevitable. One of the favourite topics of all the disciples tends to be stories about bizarre things that have happened to people during training, cultivation, meditation, or combat.

There are a lot of stories about people whose erratic behaviour, odd quirks, or particular training struggles turned out to be the cause of some kind of spiritual block that was literally ‘knocked loose’ by something hitting them, or by them falling over, or getting struck by accident. Probably the most popular story is the tale of one ancient master who fell down the temple stairs and nearly doubled his spiritual potency.

Uthvir thinks that one might be a dirty joke in disguise, though. There are a lot of references to ‘bouncing all the way day’ in a pointed fashion that tends to provoke giggles. They think it’s a pretty tame dirty joke, in that case - but that’s beside the point. Many of the stories sound like they’re supposed to be true, even if some of them are just rumours or have all the facts jumbled up.

“...Do you think that really could have happened, though?” they ask Squish.

She pauses. At first she looks like she’s going to just say ‘no, of course not’, and laugh. But then her face scrunches up, as the same thought process seems to occur to her.

“Stranger things have been known to occur,” she finally concludes.

The whole idea makes Uthvir feel strangely hopeful, and also a little bad. Has Master Thenerassan been having difficulties this whole time, then? And no one noticed? That’s sad. Now that Uthvir thinks about it, though, it doesn’t seem like very many people are close to Master Thenerassan.

Squish finishes up, and puts some bandages over the salve to keep it from wiping off while they sleep. Uthvir offers to walk her back to her barracks but she waves them off, and only takes the lantern with her as she finally has to go. Uthvir lets out a long breath, finally feeling the aches from their beating subside; but also keenly feeling the absence of their treasure, and its usual, subtle warmth.

Their blanket feels cold as they settle down. They stare at the moonlight through the cracks in the wood shed door, and think it might just be easier to puzzle over the ineffable ways of their teacher, rather than dwelling on the bitter sense of loss.

The next day proves to be a very strange one for Uthvir.

They wake up late. Which alarms them; they must have overslept, and they have so many chores still to do, they’re bewildered and at a loss that no one kicked open their door and dragged them out to get them. The possible reasons for why that might not have happened aren’t heartening; is Master Thenerassan going to declare that they’ve been neglecting their duties, and finally kick them out?

Is that why no one woke them? Because there’d be no point?

Or are they going to get punished for being lazy and sleeping half the day away?

They hurry out, hastily securing their outer tunic, before they make themselves stop and tie their belt correctly. They can’t afford any more mistakes today! They think quickly, checking the time to find that it’s past noon, and then pelt towards the kitchens. Calling apologies, only to find themselves turned hastily away from their usual scrubbing jobs - jobs they’d neglected yesterday, in all the chaos and confusion.

“It’s alright, Uthvir,” one of the older disciples tell them. Not one of their fellows. Uthvir comes up short, full of dread rather than reassurance, even as she pats their shoulder. “We’ve got it under control. Master Thenerassan sent word not to expect you today.”

Uthvir’s heart sinks into their stomach.

Oh no.

What if yesterday was a test? And they failed?

In a flurry of anxieties, they head for the stables next. But again they find themselves turned away; cordially informed not to worry, that they aren’t expected. They think they even see Elandaris inside, mucking things out with a black expression on his face. Only for a moment. Then they’re shoo’d away. As they head for the temple steps instead, they’re getting ready to plead for their life - or, well, their life at the peak at least - when someone calls out to them.

Uthvir stops, and then drops into a polite-but-rigid bow as they see Young Master Venavismi jogging towards them.

Venavismi is the youngest of the currently ascended masters at the peak. His duties include guarding the grounds, and…

…And escorting unwelcome persons out of the temple.

Uthvir feels like their doom is cheerfully jogging towards them. Some part of them just wants to run, thinking that this must be it. They’re getting kicked out. They don’t even know where they’ll go, or what they’ll do. They’ll end up on the streets, and the other disciples have been very fond of telling them exactly what sorts of things that would entail. They’re as stiff as a statue by the time Venavismi catches up with them.

“Hey, Uthvir!” he says, jovially. “Your master wants to see you. He’s at his studies, but he asked me to keep an eye out for when you got up.”

Uthvir swallows, and takes a minute to register what’s actually being said. In specific, they have to blink, and realize that Venavismi isn’t talking about escorting them off the mountain.

“What?” the ask. They’d been so convinced that disaster was on the way, now that it hasn’t come, they aren’t sure how to respond.

“Master Thenerassan wants to see you,” the older disciple repeats. His expression turns towards worry. “Are you alright, little sibling?”

“Of course,” they say, and manage another hasty bow. They’re still probably in trouble, but maybe… maybe if they’re being talked to, first, then there’s still a chance to salvage things. “Of course, I’ll go straight away. Thank you, Elder Brother.”

“No problem,” Venavismi assures them. He still looks concerned. “Here, let me walk you. I’m heading that way anyhow.”

Uthvir can’t exactly dissuade him without being rude. They go with him towards Master Thenerassan’s home. At a few points they pass some of Uthvir’s fellow disciples - the dark looks they’re giving Uthvir seem amplified, and it actually makes them grateful that the guardian is with them. Even if Venavismi likes to make a lot of inane small-talk.

“So how are your studies going?” he asks.

“I am progressing slowly,” Uthvir admits.

“Oh. Well, everyone usually has to go at their own pace. When I was your age, Lady Mana’Din told me that it was better to measure one’s spiritual progress against their past self, rather than their peers. Look to where you have come from where you started, rather than concerning yourself with how you stack up to the other students.”

“That sounds very wise, thank you for the advice,” Uthvir recites politely. Their thoughts are flying all over the place, though, and in truth, they barely hear most of what Venavismi says as he chats at them. All the way past the mountain garden and over the little bridge to the familiar grounds of Master Thenerassan’s home, and then even inside, as Venavismi is the one who knocks and loudly calls out.

“Brother! I brought your little student!” he says. “Are you still reading?”

There’s a rustling sound from the study.

“Yes, I’m in here. Send them in, please. Thank you,” Master Thenerassan calls back.

Venavismi gives Uthvir a pat on the shoulder.

“There. Go on,” he encourages.

They steel themselves, already rehearsing apologies as they make their way into the office.

The windows are open, Uthvir notes. And the desk has been moved. They can hear some pleasant birdsong, although everything sounds rather ominous to them under the circumstances. Swan’s Grace, Master Thenerassan’s sacred sword, is in its wall stand. Their teacher himself is sitting so that he can face the window; closing some manuals that Uthvir doesn’t recognize. A small tray of snacks is resting on the desk. Though most immortals of Master Thenerassan’s calibre don’t require food for sustenance anymore, many still eat for the pleasure of it.

Uthvir’s empty stomach rumbles a little, and they nearly recoil from themselves in horror.

“Sorry!” they blurt.

Master Thenerassan raises an eyebrow.

However, to their shock and confusion, he then slides the plate of snacks towards them. Until it’s at the edge of the desk nearest to them.

“Have you not eaten yet, Uthvir? I didn’t think Venavismi would bring you in such a rush. Have some of this, and take a seat,” he instructs.

Uthvir hesitates.

Not to be disobedient, but only because they feel like this must be some kind of trap or trick. They wait too long, and they see Master Thenerassan’s smooth expression shift towards something like irritation. Or what they think must be irritation, anyway. Hastily, they do as told, before they can get scolded. They fold themselves down across from his desk, and scoop up one of the sweet powdered rolls from the plate. In such a hurry to obey that they bite into it before they think about manners, and send a scattering of crumbs down their front.

“Sorry,” they say again, through a mouthful.

Their cheeks burn as they realize their second slip-up.

But Master Thenerassan just leans forward, and pointedly sets the plate of snacks directly into Uthvir’s lap.

“There,” he says. “No need to get crumbs anywhere, I had my fill of those anyway.”

Uthvir swallows. Their mouth feels dry with terror and confusion, but asking for a glass of water at this point would be beyond idiocy. They feel like they should refuse the offer, to be obligingly polite and deferential, but Master Thenerassan hasn’t really give them room to. He regards them strangely for a moment. Unsure of how to react, they take a more careful bite of the powdered roll, with care to make sure all the crumbs on their shirt land on the plate.

Master Thenerassan pulls a fan from his sleeve, and opens it. He lets out a long breath, and leans back. It looks as if he might be deciding something. Uthvir can’t escape the thought that he is, in fact, deciding their future.

Their fate.

“Uthvir,” he finally says, after what seems like a small eternity. The sweet roll tastes like ash in their mouth. “I owe you an apology. I have been a negligent instructor.”

To Uthvir, Thenerassan’s words sound incredibly ominous. Like the beginning of a speech that starts with ‘I have failed you as a teacher’ and ends with ‘you are no longer going to be my student’. They swallow, and fight back a cough, and put aside the plate in their lap to drop into the lowest bow they can manage.

“Master Thenerassan, please, you are the greatest instructor I could ever ask for!” they say. “I’m sorry I slept in. I didn’t mean to. I won’t make excuses, but I would never let it happen again, it wasn’t my intention-”

“Uthvir, stop, stop,” Master Thenerassan gently interrupts. They look up to find him motioning at them.

Warily, Uthvir straightens back up again.

The smile he gives them makes them feel even more lost at sea.

“I am not angry with you, Uthvir,” he says, firmly. “You are not in any trouble. On the contrary, if anyone should be punished, it should be the Master Thenerassan who has taught you these past few years. He has done disgracefully. And so, some things around here are now going to change.”

Uthvir blinks.

They are utterly lost. What is going on? What is this leading to? Is it a test? A trap?

Master Thenerassan looks at them strangely again. Then he sighs, and puts his fan up to hide some of his expression once more.

“The other students have been mistreating you,” their teacher asserts.

Uthvir automatically shakes their head in denial.

“Yes, they have been,” Master Thenerassan says, firmly. Angrily, they think. They swallow and duck their head. What’s going on? What are the right answers? For the past few years they haven’t ever been a favoured pupil, but they thought that they had at least figured out how to manage certain interactions. There were patterns that they could predict; that made it easier, even if it always seemed to end in something unpleasant for them anyway.

But now all those patterns are gone.

“I will not permit it to continue,” Master Thenerassan says.

Uthvir bites the inside of their cheek, and keep their gaze averted. So are they being sent away, then? To stop it from continuing?

Another long sigh reaches them.

“...In a few days, Uthvir, I will be making a personal journey to attend to my health. While I am away, I do not think it would be very wise to leave you disciples under Elandaris’ charge. I know he is the senior among you, and that is ordinarily what I would do, but… I, ah. Have been burdening him with too much responsibility.”

Uthvir blinks. The memory of blood-stained leaves beats through the panic in their mind.

Tentatively, they look up at their teacher. But Master Thenerassan is holding his fan, still.

Health? They wonder. Immortals don’t really get sick, but there are things that can injure, poison, or otherwise impeded them in ways similar to illnesses. And spiritual ailments can happen too, of course.

Does this have something to do with his odd behaviour? And his fall? Is… were they and Squish actually right?

But then, Uthvir thinks, maybe he’s going to reverse the process? Maybe he didn’t accidentally remove a block. Maybe he just addled his skull a little. They feel guilty for thinking that sort of thing could make an improvement on the man.

Although… maybe Elandaris just did something to make him really angry? Maybe this isn’t about Uthvir doing better, but Elandaris doing worse?

Master Thenerassan carries on, heedless of their thoughts and speculation.

“Obviously, I cannot simply leave the training of my disciples to the wolves for several weeks. But it would be too much to burden any one Sibling of the peak with handling all of you. So I have made arrangements for you all to attend different teachers, while I am gone. They have generously loaned some of their time for this cause. I will tell everyone, of course, but for now you can know that you and Desire will be answering to Master Venavismi while I’m away.”

Uthvir blinks.

Venavismi?

That’s… not bad? And they’re serving with Squish? Master Thenerassan put them together on purpose?

“Oh,” is all they can manage at first, in their surprise. Then they remember their manners, and duck their head. “Thank you very much, Teacher.”

“Hm. You should thank Master Venavismi for his time, but don’t worry about thanking me,” Master Thenerassan says. “All you need to do is make sure you go to him and tell him if anyone is bothering you. It is not good for the other disciples to shirk their duties onto you. Chores are distributed throughout the peak as part of training. Every disciple must learn how to balance the necessities of daily life with the pursuit of loftier goals. But right now, things are unbalanced. Uthvir does all of the chores, and barely has time to focus on their spiritual cultivation and practice. The others do none of the chores, and do not build up their characters. So don’t think you’re doing them any favours by keeping quiet about their mistreatment towards you.”

Uthvir’s eyes are wide.

Again, they flounder. Not knowing what to say. But the habit of thinking that if there’s a problem, then they must be to blame for it, is an old standby. They immediately start offering apologies again; and rendered uncertain, again, when Master Thenerassan makes them stop that.

“You are not in trouble,” their teacher reiterates.

“But I… hurt their training?” they venture. Isn’t that what they’re getting at?

Master Thenerassan looks vexed.

“No, Uthvir. I am saying that they have hurt your training, as well as their own. And that I have failed you by letting this go on so long,” he declares.

Uthvir feels like someone just opened up the floor underneath them. They stare blankly ahead, and then blink a few times.

They… he… what?

“...Really?” they venture at last.

Master Thenerassan’s expression vanishes behind a wave of his fan again.

“Really,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “But it falls to me, now, to try and fix this. That will take us some time, I fear. And some things cannot be endured; you can no longer sleep in that filthy wood shed, for starters.”

“I don’t mind it!” Uthvir insists, hastily. Please, no, not the barracks…

“The barracks are also unacceptable, in your case,” Master Thenerassan tells them. As if he could read their mind. They wobble in place a little, still missing the floor. Except, bit by bit, they’re starting to wonder if they’re floating rather than sinking. If this is a good feeling, rather than a bad one.

“Fortunately, there is a room by my garden that I do not use,” their teacher continues. “It has its own door to the outside, so there is no need for us to disturb one another. I’ll expect you to have your things moved over there by the end of today. Otherwise, you should focus on your studies until I leave. There will be no more chores until Master Venavismi assigns you some, after I have gone, to try and make up for some of the imbalanced time.”

Uthvir stares.

…What?

As Master Thenerassan looks back at them expectantly, they remember themselves yet again. Dropping into another hasty bow.

“That is too kind!” they insist.

“I think I have explained why it is not,” Master Thenerassan retorts, quietly. Almost more to himself than to him, they think. Before they can think of how to respond, he motions at them to sit up again, using his fan to gesture. “Stop bowing. And finish that plate of food, you are much too malnourished. I have some training manuals for you and Desire, I expect you to give hers to her before I go. Master Venavismi will give you guidance if you need it, but I should still point you in the right direction, so I expect you both to read these manuals while I am gone…”

Uthvir listens. They really do, even though it also still feels like they’re floating away in shock and confusion. They sit in Master Thenerassan’s office, and eat sweets, and listen to birds, and are given two crisp new manuals to tuck under their arm, and a key to a room that leads onto Master Thenerassan’s own garden. They try the shed, first, thinking that makes more sense, but no. The key doesn’t fit there. Instead it opens a door to a quiet little space that looks like it was originally meant to be a meditation room. Uthvir doesn’t know why Master Thenerassan would dislike it enough to not use it; there is a lot of pleasant light and fresh scents from the garden. But someone has put a new bedroll into the corner, along with a chest for keeping clothes in.

Uthvir leaves in a daze to go and get their things. It doesn’t take long, they don’t have very much. The little room still seems sparse and empty as they set down their blanket and put away their spare uniform, and use the extra drawers to hold all their training material and their little tin of healing salve.

Moving their belongings reminds them of what’s missing from the count of items.

It’s a sad thing in with several confusing-but-ostensibly-good things. So Uthvir’s not sure how it works out that they end up sitting on their blanket in a corner of the strange room, with their knees up their chest, crying as quietly as they can.

And when they’ve finished, they feel tired all over again. Even though they overslept already. Their bones feel hollowed out, and the lack of comforting weight at their neck still seems wrong, but… but, as they settle their damp cheeks against their knees, a wave of relief washes over them. It feels the same way that the air does after a storm has broken. And so, with instinctive desire, and a strange sense of balance, they fold themselves into a meditative pose and settle more deliberately into their corner. Closing their eyes as they focus on their breathing, and then on the flow of their spiritual energy.

Their teacher instructed them to practice.

Even if nothing else makes sense, Uthvir supposes that this, at least, probably should.

Thenvunin can’t help but fretting, when the day actually arrives for him to leave and head for the caves.

It still seems like a good plan. Or maybe just the best he can come up with. But there seem to be endless complications to everything. He had assumed things would get simpler once he wasn’t getting ‘dinged’ by the OOC Lock anymore - and in a sense, that really is a benefit. What he’d failed to consider, though, was that there might still be consequences for acting ‘strangely’.

Case in point - the first morning after the lock had worn off, no less than three of the original Thenerassan’s colleagues had asked if he was ‘feeling alright’. Master Tasallir had looked at him as if he might be having some kind of manic episode, one of the peak’s healers had just ‘swung by’ to check on the currents of his spiritual energy, and then Uthvir had seemed positively terrified during a simple interview where all he tried to do was fix their bullying issue and move them to a better place to sleep at night.

He had scared them witless and he didn’t even know how.

They still seem uncertain around him. Thenvunin has been giving them space - and that hasn’t been hard, at the end of the day. He has plenty to deal with in trying to wrangle the other disciples at the moment, who are even more confused that their ‘teacher’ has started behaving differently. At least that makes some sense, though, because Thenvunin isn’t particularly trying to be nice to them.

Oh, he’s not being cruel. But being ‘too nice’ to Squish reads in a way that makes his skin crawl, considering the Original Thenerassan’s ‘niceness’ towards her. And as for his bully students, well, obviously there’s a need to backtrack on some of the damage that’s been done to their values and discipline. Which means actually punishing them for being vicious little beasts.

Thenvunin’s never been a teacher. He went to school, once, for about four years when his health was good. Otherwise it was all homeschooling. So he even finds himself pouring through the Original Thenerassan’s notes, not because he thinks it would be a good thing to emulate the man on a lot of things, but because it… at least gives him an idea of what he’s working with? And what the general structure of things should maybe look like. Unfortunately, most of the Original’s notes just read like the diary entries of some kind of madcap social climber. Who has good connections, who has money, who has relatives who’ve ascended, and things like that.

Otherwise, he didn’t seem to bother with a lot of necessary work.

Thenvunin ends up going to Master Tasallir, who is an ascended scribe and the person in charge of the peak’s records and archives, and mustering up an excuse of losing some of his teaching materials in order to access back-up records in the archives. Tasallir still seems to think he might be deranged, but less than he had before, when Thenvunin had attempted to offer him an actual friendly greeting.

The man does make him nervous, though. He can’t even remember reading about him from the original book, and yet for some reason he is… unreasonably good-looking? Like someone cast him out of precious metals and ivory and then brought him to life via wishes. He is quite possibly the most meticulously groomed person Thenvunin has seen on the entire peak, which is saying something, and every time her speaks to Thenvunin he looks like someone has jammed half a lemon in his mouth.

Thenvunin cannot take it personally. He thinks he would look the same way at the Original Thenerassan, and has no idea what sorts of transgressions his alter-ego might have committed before Thenvunin pulled a body snatch on him.

But the long and short of it is that he spends several days running around in a mad panic, earning no points and feeling as if he is somehow just making everything worse, as he tries to actually teach his students and beseeches the other mentors at the peak for assistance and is perpetually asked if his ‘spiritual equilibrium’ is alright.

So on balance, despite his nervousness over leaving - and what could go wrong in his absence, if that little villain Elandaris gets his hands on Uthvir again - he thinks the trip will be good.

He can study, He can practice his abilities. He can make plans. He can come back, and hope that any major shifts in his ‘general temperament’ might be attributed to a successful trip; like the way some people seem to come back from vacations with entirely new outlooks on life. Or maybe, if he gives them a few days, people will start to forget what the Original was really like. Even just a little bit.

…That’s a long shot, but he can hope.

One silver lining to the whole scenario that he hadn’t even anticipated is that, since he is going to a section of the sacred caves that is not typically used by Quiet Peak, Lady Mana’Din gives him a map of the cave system with his path outlined for him. She also gives him a special pass key, which is little more than a strip of paper with a password written on it. But when Thenvunin presents it to the waterfall opening of the cave system, the water parts, and the entrance is revealed to him; and every other path along the way is also opened by his innocuous-seeming strip of paper.

Thenvunin begins to feel some unease about the situation as he makes his way to the cavern system of Battle Peak.

He’s never been in a cave before. Only really seen them on television and in movies, which doesn’t really do the darkness of them justice. Not that there’s no light; openings up towards the surface let in bright shafts of daylight, but any time a cloud rolls past them, they darken. And there are some lanterns, but still, they don’t illuminate everything. Many passageways seem shrouded in a deep darkness, and the darkness feels strange to him.

Old, somehow.

It reminds him of the practice that some peaks have of binding cursed spirits and demons beneath mountains. Like the dungeons below a castle. Thenvunin does not see anything, or hear anything, or even feel anything more than the odd sense of the ‘energy’ in the place. There are pools of calm, and waterfalls of light, and there are small bodies of still water - clear, somehow - and there is darkness.

Only the darkness bothers him, until he thinks about how much time he is going to be spending here.

Then he is very glad that he brought along so many books.

Every so often he passes a cave that he suspects is occupied, but he doesn’t see any occupants until he gets to the segment of the map that marks the Battle Peak system. He doesn’t get lost or turned around too many times, thankfully. The caves are supposed to be a ‘natural’ place, but they do still have markers for the pilgrims that come.

When Thenvunin is the Battle Peak system, he passes by a small chamber. Filled, unexpectedly, with daylight. An unfamiliar figure mediates in the middle of the room. They do not seem to take note of Thenvunin’s passage, and after a while, he decides it would be best just to leave them to their self-reflection.

Other than that, he doesn’t see anyone until he’s actually made it to the cavern allotted to him.

The space is something of a relief. Though it’s still obviously a cave, it has light. Not as much as the one he saw the meditating disciple in, but enough to give him a glimpse of the sky through the high opening. Water trickles down one side of the cavern wall, and some moss is growing around the opening. Thenvunin can feel the air move a little.

It startles him, how much of a relief that is. Like a friendly touch that he had missed without knowing, ever since he came inside the caves. He moves to the middle of the chamber, and takes a deep breath. Spreading his arms out and feeling the air across his face.

I can do this.

Though after a moment, it occurs to him that he isn’t entirely sure how to start.

The meditation he witnessed earlier rises in his memory, and after a moment, he supposes that’s as good a place to begin as any. He sets the bag he brought into a corner of the cave - Master Venavismi had blinked at the sight of it before he left, asking if it wasn’t traditional to take nothing at all; but Thenvunin managed to say it was only for the trip - and then he settles in a good spot to feel the breeze, and begins.

Once he starts in on things, he finds that, like with the leaves he had thrown at Elandaris, many things are more like waking up a memory than trying to attempt something new. Even though Thenvunin is sure he’s never done any of them before. He manages to pass several hours without feeling like he’s been in a hard stone cave for that long; not noticing the memory of hunger, or feeling pain from the cold stone floor. He alternates between mediation and cultivation, practice and pondering. He takes breaks to read some of the manuals he brought and makes notes, and notices the light changing from day to night, before the habit of sleeping catches up with him.

But that just leaves him feeling antsy and uncertain. And in too much darkness to read anymore.

Sounds from one of the other chambers draws his attention. Thenvunin considers that it might be wise to watch some of the other disciples here, to see what they’re doing. To figure out what he should be doing. He gets up, and dusts himself off, and heads back out of the chamber. A little wandering leads him to a side passage, that descends right down next to the cavern he was in. That’s where the sounds seem to be coming from, along with the steady trickle of running water. He makes his way down, hesitating when the distant lantern light fades, and he has to proceed in darkness. But it only lasts for a short while, before he sees a light at the end of the passage.

The sounds become clearer. It sounds like someone… groaning? Sparring, perhaps? Thenvunin almost thinks for half a second that he’s about to walk in on something inappropriate instead, with the heavy nature of the panting that he hears, but… serious disciples of Battle Peak wouldn’t use the sacred caves for trysts, would they?

That would be too scandalous!

Thenvunin’s face feels hot at the thought, and he’s definitely hoping he doesn’t see anything untoward at all as he reaches the bottom, and takes a look around.

The first thing he notes is that there is only one person in the chamber. It’s a wide space, bigger than the one he had been in, but with more dark patches. A lone disciple is standing just off to one side, with his back towards the passage. His shoulders are hunched; and he is the source of the heavy breaths.

Thenvunin hesitates. Something niggles at the back of his mind, a sense of something he should know, but also a rush of reflexive worry. Thoughts of being in hospitals, of seeing other sick and injured and struggling people.

This man is unwell?

And then the system provides him with a name, hovering in text just below the stranger’s shoulder. Like a caption in a film.

Thenvunin freezes.

All the colour drains out of his face as sudden recognition dawns.

Oh no. Oh no. No, he remembers this now! From when the original Thenerassan was discredited in the story! Battle Peak’s champion was Thenerassan’s rival while they were students, serving under the same teacher. They had bitterly despised one another, and Thenerassan had nursed a grudge ever since the fallout of their constant fighting had seen their teacher hand his tutelage over to Mana’Din at Quiet Peak, in order to separate them. Bitterness at being the one chosen to leave rather than stay, Thenvunin had assumed.

A spark of hatred that had bloomed into an opportunistic murder, when Thenerassan had gone to the sacred caves for self-reflection, and found Calain lost to the haze of spiritual imbalance. A training method gone badly awry. At the time, the murder was considered self-defense; Calain had lashed out and in defending himself, Thenerassan had killed him by mistake. But as the black marks on his reputation grew, it became clear that the murder was deliberate. Calain’s state only provided a plausible excuse.

And Master Calain’s sister was a member of Uthvir’s harem. One of their favourite wives, even. So of course, Uthvir had taken great care to avenge the death of her brother, along with every other payment they drew from Thenerassan’s blood.

I can’t be here, Thenvunin thinks, all at once. He turns to leave but in his hurry, and the dark, a loose pebble flies away from his shoe.

Calain turns. Ragged and wild, like an animal. Thenvunin feels a rush of shock as he sees his skin mottled with darkness, as if covered in dozens of bruises. He can scarcely take in anything else about the man, as fear overwhelms him, and he moves to keep running.

Calain makes a sharp motion. There’s a flash of warning. Reflexes alone save Thenvunin as he leaps back, and barely avoids the sword that cuts across his path.

<Dawn’s Radiance>, the system helpfully tags it.

I don’t care about the names of swords right now! What am I supposed to do?! Thenvunin wonders back. He doesn’t get an answer, isn’t even really expecting anything that helpful, before Calain roars at him and charges. His sword whipping through the air and flying to his hand, as his eyes gleam with wild, erratic energy.

Thenvunin flees in the opposite direction.

“Calain!” he tries, as the two of them begin to race in circles around the chamber. “Calain, it’s me, Thenvunin!”

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Calain roars.

Right, yes, no, the Original Thenerassan may have known him but they weren’t on good terms. Familiarity isn’t going to help. Thenvunin keeps running, and dodging the occasional onslaughts of Calain’s sword, as he tries desperately to think. I need to get help!

He attempts to turn back up the passageway, but the sword blocks his path. And then it cuts towards him, and in a sudden, vivid moment of clarity, Thenvunin knows that if he doesn’t do exactly the right thing right this second, he is going to be speared on that blade.

Before he can really think about it, about what he knows or what he can or can’t do, he turns, and in a smooth motion, draws Swan’s Grace.

The blocking move comes effortlessly. Calain’s sword strikes against his own with enough force to push him backwards, but even though there’s a ton of energy behind it, it’s erratic and unfocused. Thenvunin narrows his eyes, and in a sharp, deliberate gesture, knocks the weapon out of the grasp of Calain’s distorted spiritual energy, and sends it clattering across the chamber.

Right in time for the weapon’s owner to charge him like a zombie from a horror film.

Thenvunin’s ready, though. He feels impossibly calm - like he’s floating out of this body again, like he’s just a director telling it what they need to accomplish - as he turns the flat of his blade to deflect part of Calain’s charge, and then smashes a palm up the underside of his jaw. The energy around them ripples, and Thenvunin’s own bats his attacker away with a rush of wind that howls through the chamber.

Calain smacks against the cavern wall; Thenvunin immobilizes him quickly, enabled mostly, he thinks, but the pure chaos of the other man’s aura, and the incoherence of his intentions. He sits on his back to hold him down, while Calain bucks, and keeps Swan’s Grace ready to deflect in case he should manage to summon his sword again.

But then, reality sinks back in, and Thenvunin is once again at a loss.

What… what he should do?

He can’t hold Calain down forever. But he can’t kill him, either. Even if it weren’t for the situation with Uthvir later on, Thenvunin’s never killed a person before. Trying to tell himself that Calain’s only a fictional character doesn’t seem to work very well. Not when he’s spasming and struggling like a very real, ill man, caught in some kind of terrible seizure.

“Help!” he tries calling. “We need assistance! Is anyone there?”

He thinks he hears something, or maybe a few things. But minutes pass and Calain is getting harder to restrain, and the bruising on his skin is looking worse by the minute, unless that’s just Thenvunin’s imagination. But it seems almost like… like he’s changing. Like the imbalance is…

Oh.

Oh, no. He remembers now. Imbalance one’s energies bad enough, and death can result. Calain body is being destroyed by the energies inside of it. Like a cancer.

But as Thenvunin remembers that, he also finds himself remembering something else. One of Uthvir’s wives went through something similar, didn’t she? Sabotaged in her training by a rival. But Uthvir saved her. In the sort of novel that Immortal Demon Way was, not saving their own wife wouldn’t have fit the power fantasy bill. So Uthvir had used their own spiritual equilibrium to restore hers. Thenvunin even remembers the description of the technique, although he also recalls it being described as very dangerous and liable to damage both parties if it backfires…

It’s seeing Calain spit up a mouthful of blood that finally makes up his mind.

“For the record, I’ve never done this before. So if it doesn’t work, I am sincerely trying,” he says.

Then he summons up his focus, and presses his fingers to specific points on Calain’s back. Digging in, and mustering up the energy he needs, and feeling out what the over-abundance of energy in the other man is. Then he starts channeling in a counter-balance from his own stores.

It feels strange. Like bleeding, almost, but not quite. Thenvunin’s arms tingle and his focus blurs a little. But he takes calm, steady breaths. If there’s one thing he does know, it’s how it feels when something’s going wrong in his body. And this feels tiring, and risky, but not like he’s committed a disaster yet. A soft glow emanates from his touch. He’s so focused, that he doesn’t notice when Calain stops struggling.

He does notice when the mottling on his skin begins to fade, though.

Thenvunin keeps up the process until he feels like he’s starting to lose his own balance. And then he finally pulls his hand away, and stops.

There’s a long moment of utter silence.

Then the system chimes in.

<Congratulations! You have successfully completed a character quest. +50.>

Fifty points? Just fifty, for all that? Thenvunin doesn’t know if he’s more surprised that he got anything at all, or offended that this was somehow worth fewer points than just stealing poor Uthvir’s treasured necklace.

Calain turns, and looks at him with eyes that seem bloodshot, but otherwise normal.

“What?” he says. “Thenvunin?”

He sounds simultaneously offended and bewildered. Thenvunin figures he can let the other man go, now, and does. Only starting to release him before Calain is shoving him off in return, and moving warily away from him.

Thenvunin folds his arms, unable to fight back his annoyance. It might be understandable that almost everyone hates him, here, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t getting sick of it, too.

“What’s that look for?” he demands. “I just saved your life! That was a risky move, you know. I’ve never done anything like that before. And you were trying to kill me the entire time, too!”

Calain’s brow furrows. He looks confused.

Thenvunin curses his luck.

“Oh please don’t tell me you have short-term memory loss?” he snaps. That would be his luck, wouldn’t it?

The comment seems to smooth out some of Calain’s features, though. The other man extends one arm outward, and Dawn’s Radiance flies back into it. Thenvunin stiffens; but after a second, Calain only sheaths the blade back at his hip.

“I remember,” he says, clipped and obviously still wary.

The two of them stare one another down.

“...Why?” Calain finally asks, breaking the silence.

Thenvunin straightens out his clothes, which had been sent somewhat askew by the fight, and hesitates on how to reply.

“Why what?” he asks, in the end.

It just seems to make Calain more annoyed, though.

The effect is somewhat undermined by the fact that the man is bizarrely pretty, though. Thenvunin is beginning to wonder what’s going on with that. When he read the book, he had sort of imagined Master Calain as being a rugged, muscles-upon-muscles, thick-and-hairy warrior type. Barrel-chested and stocky and square-jawed, the sort of man who fought bears under waterfalls. But on reflection, he supposed that the man’s reputation had been described more than his looks. And his sister, Calantha, was a remarkable beauty; dainty and fair, and actually described in an atypical amount of physical detail.

On that reflection, Thenvunin realizes that Calain looks essentially like a male version of her. He’s still obviously fit and broad-shouldered, taller than Thenvunin himself. But he’s delicate-looking too, with a princely sort of countenance. A pretty face, long eyelashes, soft mouth…

The contrast between expectation and reality is a little unnerving.

Still. Calain is glaring, and he does at least have the eyebrows to pull that off.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, looking Thenvunin up and down. As if he’s half expecting some vipers to suddenly come soaring out of his pockets or something.

Thenvunin sighs, internally, and reminds himself that there’s no point in getting annoyed. People are just going to be suspicious. The only person to blame for it isn’t here, because Thenvunin has taken his place.

“I’ve been… thinking about a lot of things,” he says. “Things I regret. About the past. About who I’ve been. I don’t want to be that person anymore, Calain. I’m trying to bury the Thenvunin Thenerassan you knew, and do a better job with the future than he ever would have. I would like to turn over a new leaf.”

Calain looks suspicious, still.

After a few more minutes of staring contests, Thenvunin gives up. He feels bad, now. Tired. Here he was supposed to be building up his spiritual energy, and now he’s set himself back instead. Not that he regrets it. After a moment he finds himself looking Calain over again, and while the other man may still be expecting some kind of trick…

Thenvunin just saved his life.

Maybe he can be proud of that, even if no one else is?

“I’m in the cave at the top of the passage,” he mentions, gesturing. “If you run into difficulties again, come and find me.”

Calain’s expression wavers, while Thenvunin starts to head up. It’s only then that he finally hears the sound of voices calling. Battle Peak disciples approaching from the opposite end of Calain’s chamber, by the sounds of it. After a moment of considering, Thenvunin just decides to keep going. Let them look after Calain, now. They’re his colleagues and he’s probably more comfortable with that anyway.

After a while he hears Calain finally turn and answer the calls, and then the voices move further than Thenvunin can properly hear. He finishes making his way back up the passage, and heads into his own cavern again. Settling down, reviewing the last manual he read, and focusing on figuring out just what all he did to himself, and how he should probably reverse it.

It’s good practice, he tells himself.

Come morning, he has changed his mind entirely. Exerting that much energy in such a strange way was absolutely not worth it. He should have just killed Calain. Maybe this sadistic system would have given him more points. Probably, he thinks. And then he wouldn’t be feeling like someone filled his head with bees and tied all of his muscles into knots.

The second day he gives up on progressing a few times in favour of just quietly weeping in the corner of his cavern.

Eventually, though, Thenvunin finds himself getting back on track. The buzzing in his skull abates, and he manages to smooth out all the aches in his own body, with a deliberateness that makes him envious even while he’s doing it. If only he could have done this while he was alive! Just - fix himself! Heal himself, oh, that would have been a dream come true. The number of nights he had spent awake wishing he could just will his bones better…

It makes him a little emotionally unbalanced. He has to start some things over again, and switches to sword practice for a while instead.

A few times, he thinks about going to check on Calain. But he hears no more strange noises, and after a while, he decides against it. He doesn’t want to jinx it, he managed to get away without killing the man this time, but what if testing his luck just means he ends up doing the whole thing over again?

Sometimes he can tell, without really seeing, that there are other disciples moving around the caves. But mostly, things just stay quiet, and never sees anyone. Hears things, feels things, but doesn’t see things. He forces himself to put his attention to what he needs to do, what he came for. After a while he loses track of time entirely, but, he still has a strong sense that he should stay put for now.

Until, one evening, he abruptly finds that he doesn’t anymore.

Time to go.

Without sparing much thought to question it, Thenvunin gathers up his things. He hesitates, warring with himself over it; but then he turns towards the passageway leading down to the big chamber. It’s still daylight outside the caves, and that makes him feel bolder, even though it doesn’t change the light levels in the passage any.

When he makes his way down, he sees Calain sitting on a flattened stone in the chamber. Eyes closed.

“Brother,” he calls. “I’m leaving. Just so you know. Good luck with the rest of your endeavours.”

It would have been irresponsible, Thenvunin thinks, to just leave without letting the man know that a potential source of help had gone.

Calain doesn’t give any acknowledgement of having heard him or not.

After a minute, Thenvunin can’t help but sniff in annoyance. Muttering a little to himself about rude people and ingrates before turning on his heel and making his way all the way back up that damn passage again, before consulting his map to find the quickest route out.

Once he’s out, getting back to Quiet Peak will be simpler than leaving it. He can just use his energy to fly his way there on his sword. A genre trope that always seemed a little odd to him, but when he tested it out during one of his attempts to master a few basic abilities, he suddenly discovered the appeal.

Of flying, at least.

The map leads him to an opening that heads straight up and out of a wide side passage. Thenvunin takes it, and lets out an audible sigh of relief as he finally comes clear of the cavern rock and breaks out into the trees and open air again. A slightly frigid wind blowing past him, carrying just the faintest hints of snow, while the trees sway. He lets his energy carry him up above the tops of them, as he stretches his arms out again.

That was a success, he thinks. He does feel somewhat better about himself and his abilities now. Even if that whole debacle with Calain still feels vaguely traumatic.

He turns towards Quiet Peak…

…And halts, going cold all over again.

Flames lick upwards from the direction of the temple. While the sky towards the opposite horizon is grey, closer to the peak, the air shimmers with an eerie red light. The next gust of wind that blows his way carries ash instead of snow, and right as he sees it, he hears the first distant chime of the temple’s alarm bells.

He forgot.

How could he forget?!

The attack! The attack on the temple, when Uthvir was fifteen. One of the most formative moments in Uthvir’s pre-Hell development, one of the first ‘big’ fights, a pivotal moment before the tournament that actually seemed to make the story really kick off the ground.

The attack!

Demons have come to Quiet Peak.

#scum villain au #sharkbait #cliffhanger warning #i really wanted to post something #most of my writing efforts have not gone well but!#i am still trying and this was the best success i've had lately #so here you go guys hope somebody likes it #long post

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