Today wasn’t a good day for practice, as overnight an unmerciful storm had barreled through the region. Before his father had left, he had to trudge his way through knee-deep snow that was only knee-deep after Gihren blew some of it away. Grisla received a second day of good fortune, with the weather being as it is and their people still powerless to control it, the entire ordeal meant he had an appropriate excuse to dodge practice and focus on the new excitement—the mystery of Rei Jian’s amulet.

He had passed it by Gihren’s eye, to see if he had an opinion, but with no such luck.

  “You’re too excited for taking on someone’s junk.” Gihren said.

  “I’ve did a looking over and… to be frank, boy, it’s better off as a doorstop. It’s true, there was some pulse of Juva emitting from this long ago, but that time seems to have passed around the same era that Rei Jian lived. Take it by the forge come morning and sell it for us.”

The night prior was a long bout of arguing over it. Grisla had not a whit of care for whatever stir of disappointment Gihren made clear on his face, for he felt something was unique about it in the way like cats never sharing the same fur pattern. Doubt did beset him, it always did, just as he defended his audacious position in front of his father. The time shred from his training into an item of unknown value such as this is an ache for their dreams of his martial revival. He could lie to others, if he needed, but—he couldn’t lie to himself about his feelings.

Were there not a blizzard running free outside he would’ve heard the clap of the door from Gihren’s exit. Leaving him, himself, and his thoughts on the case of the ruined amulet.

  “You won’t be destroyed. You refuse to respond to Juva or spiritual sense, what can you do, then?” Grisla muttered as he held the amulet in his eyes. “How silly. I’m trying to figure out something that men who’ve lived, breathed, and cultivated double the years I’ve been alive couldn’t. And I think I’m better somehow?”

He sat, illuminated by the brazier.

  What would mother say?

He couldn’t even illustrate her hypothetical response. It’s been only a handful of years, and as time marches as it always did and always had, he begins to forget her voice, a little. Forced to fill in the missing gaps with fictional inflections of her voice and pitch. Her cadence he had forgotten entirely, so that was fictionalized too. He thanked the absence for his father, nobody would be witness to his watering eyes.

It was morning, turning to afternoon, but, with their Hannamith island located the furthest north one could go for civilization on the map, it led to some very nightlike days and nights who reigned like it was eternal. Forcing the community to burn oil at a constant to keep up visibility.

His father had left him with a new cache of supplies: not one, but two Soul Cleansing pills; some snacks, and hastily scribbled notes of martial philosophy. Gihren knew his son well, he always gave him one thing he hated, and two he liked. But the catch of the stash was in the pills—they were misshapen; and lacked the clarity like the one he swallowed before.

  Assuredly some impurities in there.

Grisla wiped his face while he gazed at them. These pills—were barely able to be called as such. The interior wasn’t a brilliant jade; swamp water would be a descriptive fit. They would normally be discarded as failures because the potency was too low, or the ingredients were mixed in incorrect ratios. A sample you’d find inside a Pillmaker’s dumpster.

He growled, and his brows tightened to a point where the muscle could give no more. He knew he was Grisla the Untalented, Grisla the Failure, trash, whatever they could conjure up. But—scraps?! His father had served the clan since he was a boy. Killed for them! When things go wrong, this is how they repay him? Picking one up for a closer inspection had made it worse.

Grisla kicked—more like launched, the box far away from his person. If it weren’t from his father destroying the thing entirely would be the first option to take.

  Self-control! Self-control! Patience, discipline…

That lasted a breath before the dam broke.

Feral, untamed his scream was. He didn’t care who would hear or be close, because this scream was a scream filled with anguish, and hatred. He did not scream at his clan, or those who saw him as lesser. How could he blame them? People feared what they didn’t understand. Others took it as delicious irony. Before his father’s crippling, they both stood as titans over their peers, commanding respect at the end of a fist. Why! Why must I suffer so?! Have I wronged the heavens by my birth, or am I to be an example for others to see?

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I am not… trash!

The pottery, and cutlery trembled like a weak earthquake was in session as they were victims to his raging scream. Grisla spared nothing, dumping the entire pool of his Juva to the outside world, like someone had stabbed a hole into a washbasin. Even the light flickered, torchlight hesitating. Though he had not anything to sniff at for quantity, just his explosiveness would bring up a beacon to his home like a flare.

The Grittus clan knew who was enraged, and they chuckled in their homes; those in independent training shook their heads, continuing. Some on a stroll threw their gaze to his direction. Elder Jinshi who was embroiled in his meal at home blinked, then muttered another expletive unheard by Grisla. Gihren, who was in the middle of conversation threw his head low; the fellow he was just conversing with couldn’t help but sneer at him.

After his outburst—after his core had drained itself—he looked around.

To find nothing out of place. Not a plate shattered, nor a tipping of the cup he had sipped from earlier. Feeling like a wrung washrag, he crumpled to the floor.

Defeated, would be best said.

----------------------------------------

Grisla awoke with a savanna for a mouth. He rubbed his face that was patterned with dried tears. He had had his episode, now it was time to move on.

  What should I do next, then?

An open-ended question. The most prominent pain he had ever felt about his unique circumstance, was the fact of the matter is nobody had ever possessed his problem. Sure, there were roadblocks, stumbles on the road of the Path. Temporary things. Reasons may lie in talent or lack of trying. He knew the latter wasn’t an issue, and talent? He did not know.

He had both, so what happened to them? Obviously, it just doesn’t disappear on its own. Could it even be taken? It was just as intrinsic to the soul as anything else a man possessed, in this life or the next. A tampering on his soul would be impossible, because at the time his father guarded him day and night, would even stand by his bedside if asked. An illness he caught, perhaps? Unlikely. There hadn’t been an outbreak in many years.

  Pointless dithering. I’ll clean up the mess and get back to doing Earth shatters; Heaven quakes, again, maybe this time I’ll be able to pass step five without error.

Back in the horse stance. He readied himself, however it took much longer than it ever did. In due to his outburst earlier which still had his composure on a tipsy boat. Slipping at his posture, fixed; slipped again, fixed. The Juva spent had made everything feel like it was doubled in difficulty. Ahh! Forget this, why am I even trying?

He stumbled back like a drunk, getting his fall caught by a pillar.

It was a good night to sleep at peace with a quality blanket, but Grisla felt like sleeping and staying awake were equally dreadful. The amulet, to his surprise as it caught his vision, was completely unfazed. Sure, he didn’t blow up with much power earlier but even he can make small objects vibrate to his tune. The mystery deepens.

  Before he had the mindfulness to filter his budding craziness he said: “Heh… if you were anything special, surely, you’d give me a sign right about now. It’s funny the more I look at you,” he raised his chin. “the more it comes to me that we’re both disposable, has-beens. So, tell me, has-been, think I have a shot at something more?”

He couldn’t care a whit he was speaking to something inanimate. Whatever it took to soothe himself, he went for it. Then he closed his eyes, hoping that sleep will take him before he really mused on his episode of craziness.

But something shuffled.

Grisla Orlith, failure he may be still possessed ears beyond an ordinary mortal’s, the walls were thin and there was only one person in here. Who then?

  Father must’ve come back.

That didn’t hold water. His father’s post wouldn’t change out for another three hours. Unless he sped back home lest his unremarkable son harms himself. There was the shuffling and then… nothing. It was a sound like someone dragged a shovel through the sand, it wouldn’t go by without his notice. But then silence filled in again, and he lay there remarkably stumped.

  A critter if nothing else.

A good enough excuse for him, as he closed his eyes once more. However, this time—there was the dragging and then a plop near his feet. Alarming him to a stance. Left, right, and up there were no enemies, no cackling villain to take him on. He would’ve preferred that to the general nothingness in his vision.

He sighed. “Okay, fine, the wind!” It wasn’t a bad assumption, for the blizzard still raged on. His tune changed automatically when that same sound came at his feet. Grisla looked down, mouth agape. There’s no way.

As if answering that thought, Rei Jian’s amulet pathetically flipped itself on its side. “Ahh... this must be that ‘cultivator’s high’ I’ve heard so much about.” Picking it up off the floor, he would think that the rage has changed his sanity for the worse.

  Ain’t much changed. For sure it’s me hearing things.

Next to the brazier, the logs below the flame made cracking sounds under his watch. The amulet. The fire. An idea was born in him. He held the amulet over the open flame and ever so slowly, a link of its chain would slip out of his fingers. Closer and closer till it nearly kissed the highest point of the flame. “See ya,” Grisla said as he dropped it. It hit the bed of the brazier with an unsatisfying sound. As it heated, Grisla could tell it wouldn’t give for quite some time.

  Father’ll be pleased when he thinks he finally took a win over me. I am curious how much the metal will be worth after it gets broken down.

It baked in the fire for ten minutes. Fifteen that rolled over to twenty. Whether Grisla noticed it or not, a half hour had passed. The amulet looked just as it did when he dropped it, only that now it was bright with the color of its torturer.

  Grisla said to himself, “How fascinating.”

  “I’m not sure how hot it is in there, but I’m sure without a doubt it’s in the hottest part of the brazier. Resistant to both Juva and heat? Too strange.” He laughed as he brought his face close to it. “Can’t see any hallucinations when its toasting like that. But that resistance to heat makes you perfect for these frigid months, hell, maybe you are a little usef—”

If he still had Juva, the clan would be hearing his enhanced shriek in every crevice of Leimuth. Instead, his neighbors across the way begged for his death tonight.

Rei Jian’s amulet jumped from its hell to slap Grisla Orlith in the face.