Aleytha coughed into her hand. “This is a delicate matter, of course. Even as one of the scions of the royal family, my knowledge on the subject is limited. It is considered taboo knowledge.”
Cyril resisted the urge to sigh. Her words at least confirmed that the Abyss was the terminal form of Hosjin, the ill-fated half-drow that had once served as Beljeza’s ruler. Cyril had learned a bit about him from Lanazael, the celestial ifrit who had gone mad after the death of her partner, High Priestess Anadei, on the night of her wedding. Hosjin had been forced to seal the rampaging ifrit within the temple until Cyril had stumbled across her millennia later and freed her. Hosjin had also been the one who brought Belejza down into the Underdark, in order to protect its citizens from the city's enemies, before vanishing into the shadows of history. In his absence, Beljeza had fallen into ruin.
As far as Cyril had been able to discover, Hosjin had seemed like a noble soul. Even if he had abandoned the people of Beljeza. Even if he had left behind the Symbol that Cyril had discovered, the one that had attempted to subvert his Destiny.
How, exactly, Hosjin had been corrupted into the Abyss? Seeking forbidden power to defeat his enemies, perhaps? Many powerful beings had failed in their attempts to seize providence from the heavens.
Cyril couldn't help but notice a parallel between them. He, too, was considering plunging into the depths of the world in search of strength, leaving his people behind. Would he meet the same fate?
Still, perhaps becoming the Abyss wasn’t even a failure, depending on Hosjin’s motivations. Achieving the status of a False Titan qualified him to be considered one of the great world powers, but without conscious intent he was closer to a mad spirit than an acting member of the immortal pantheon. Had the Abyss preserved any memories of its previous persona? Was there a reason it guarded the entrance of the underworld, or was it no more than a phantom acting on resentment?
These were questions he wanted to ask the drows, but he doubted they would offer a useful answer. Even if Princess Aleytha knew the official story, it would have been altered by her people’s biases regarding the incident. The only way he could truly know would be to ask Hosjin personally. And even that would not be the complete truth, if such a concept could even be said to exist.
The rest of the council passed without much more excitement. Cyril agreed to meet with the drows in the near-future and pick their memories regarding the upper Layers. Perhaps they would also be willing to divulge more information about Hosjin without the others present.
Afterwards, the discussion turned toward more ordinary matters, such as the plans for reconstruction and diplomacy. Cyril found his mind drifting. Politics and philosophy. They both left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he knew he would have to embrace them, at least half-heartedly. At least, one of the benefits of these sort of meetings was that they deepened his insights regarding the Dominion of Knowledge. It was proving useful for some of his other experiments, some of which were finally beginning to bear fruit.
Cyril dismissed himself from the council early, and to his slight surprise, most of them looked completely unbothered regarding his departure. He dismissed the bout of insecurity--he was, after all, more of a figurehead than anything, and they had already encouraged him to focus on his own cultivation as his first priority. Asher promised to send word of their final decisions, probably more to make him feel included than anything.
Cyril strolled out of the throne room, hands in his pockets, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He let out a deep breath after the door closed behind him.
Instead of leaving the grounds immediately, he headed towards the palace gardens. The encroaching flora along the walls and the mist of refreshing qi grew more dense. He let the fingers of his flesh-and-bone hand slide along the wall as he walked. Servants and guards nodded and smiled at him as he passed, and he greeted them as best he could, naming those he recognized. One of the tricks his mother had taught him: remember the common folk’s names and they’ll remember that forever.
As he neared the main gardens, he sighed and glanced back over his shoulder. A familiar ripple distorted his shadow--one that he had grown use to at this point.
“I see you left as well,” he said to the ripple.
Soren emerged from Cyril’s shadow and bowed over his clenched fists. “I also despise such talking. You and I, we are men of action. We advance through our deeds, not through sitting about pondering on the nature of the world. Better to shape the world than bow to it.”
Cyril shrugged at the grandiose declaration and continued along. “I’ve heard you’re quite the assassin. I assume the only reason I can detect your presence is because you’re allowing me to. Is that so?”
Soren grinned in acknowledgement.
They turned the final corner of the corridor leading to the gardens. Inside, the dense tangle of foliage had retreated into orderly plots. The ceiling had been removed, turning the area into an atrium, with mystical lights dancing high above in a pale imitation of heaven’s constellations. Four fountains strewn with ivy and a medley of flowers occupied the room, spaced apart with one at each of the cardinal directions. Most annoyingly, Cyril couldn’t help but shoot glances at the northern fountain statue. It was made of marble, and had been carved into his exact likeness.
There was a natural order to the overall design, mostly dictated by the gardener spirit’s whims; it tickled the back of Cyril’s mind, invoking some vague sense of natural order. He was unsure what, exactly, such an arrangement was supposed to accomplish, but ambient Earth qi had gathered thick within the gardens, transforming it into a natural cultivation chamber.
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Cyril started walking along the path, admiring the variety of plants and flowers on display. Here and there, cultivators had settled upon woven mats and were deep in meditation. He tried his best to avoid interrupting their thoughts, his slippers whispering against the stone floor.
Soren followed like a shadow, even more silent. They walked along the spiraling path, admiring the beauty hidden within the ruined city. After a few minutes they arrived at the center, where a giant tree with crystalline leaves stood tall and proud, stretching through the open ceiling and casting its branches out wide.
More cultivators meditated around the base of the tree, where the concentration of Earth qi was thickest. A few of them opened their eyes and were beginning to stand in acknowledgement of Cyril’s presence. He waved them away with a smile, and they returned to their contemplations.
Standing at the very base of the tree, Cyril cast out his spiritual senses. Within the trunk, he could sense the true core of the gardener spirit. He rested his hand upon the iridescent bark and sent a trickle of Knowledge and Earth qi inside. With a groan, the tree adjusted slightly, creaking and cracking like an old man stretching his limbs after a long slumber.
This was part of Cyril’s daily ritual, resupplying the spirit with qi in order to keep its natural arrays operating at maximum efficiency. In response, a single golden fruit shaped like a peach bloomed from the lowest branch. Cyril stretched out his hand, and it fell directly into his palm.
“We don’t have many dryads in the Underdark,” said Soren, finally breaking the silence. “You have made a respectable home for your people. I see you are still hesitant to leave them.”
Cyril glanced over at the drow. With a sigh, he settled down with his back against the trunk of the tree and bit into the fruit. The taste was sublime and made the inside of his mouth tingle. Energy surged through his core as the spiritual fruit returned the favor.
After the third bite, Cyril tossed the golden peach up to Soren. The drow caught it and examined it with naked suspicion, prodding it with one long finger.
“You’re a funny sort, you know,” said Cyril. “It’s all a ruse, isn’t it?”
Soren took a massive bite out of the peach. Juices dribbled down his chin. Once he finished chewing, he smiled, teeth glistening golden. “Of course.”
“As amusing as it is,” said Cyril, “may I ask why you keep antagonizing my uncle?”
“Oh, he loves it.” Soren shrugged and took another bite. “Men of passion, they love to be outraged. They love it more than love itself, more than respect. It’s addicting. He pretends like he hates me but every night we drink together and tell jokes. A great man, your uncle.”
Cyril contemplated this morsel of wisdom and, after a few moments, began to laugh. “You know humans well, for an undersider.”
Soren tossed the fruit up in the air, caught it again with a flourish. “People are much the same. Humans and drows share a common ancestor, you know. We have more in common than you think.”
“I didn’t know that, actually.” Cyril frowned, then shook his head. “I did want to talk to you about something in particular.”
“Oh?”
Cyril considered the drow, trying to keep his expression neutral. “I want you to teach me the Dominion of Space.”
Soren tilted his head to the side. “Stretching yourself a bit thin, aren’t you, Lord Behemoth?”
Cyril shrugged one of his shoulders. “‘Lord Behemoth’, is it? I prefer that over that other mocking little epithet of yours. ‘Earth God.’ I know you all are hiding some things regarding Hosjin and the Material Heart from me. Why?”
Soren’s face turned somber. “Some things are better discovered for yourself. Like the princess said, the story of Hosjin is a taboo subject, full of lies and misdirections. Perhaps only the Queen herself knows the truth of it, but if you ask me, she probably doesn’t.”
Cyril rubbed his forehead. “Fine. And you’re right, I’m trying to do a lot at once. But there is much to be done. I’ve been doing a lot of research at the Library recently, particularly in integrating concepts and affinities into oneself. As far as the traditional methods go, I’m missing two important steps: Vision and Mind. I want to use Space for one of them.”
Before he responded, Soren devoured the rest of the peach until it was no more than a core. He tossed it up into the air and, with the slightest ripple, it vanished into nothingness. “Vision, huh? We call it Senses, but I guess it’s the same. A bit of a secret, but I guess I’m feeling generous, so I’ll share. I have a Spatial constitution, so if you’re looking for another mentor to add to the collection, you may want to find someone more familiar with your desired integrations.”
“Pretending to be humble now, are we?” said Cyril. “I’m guessing it’s a matter of compensation then.”
It was Soren’s turn to laugh. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? I hate teaching people, even baby gods. Well, in exchange for the delicious Spirit Fruit, I’ll give you a word of advice. You don’t want to integrate Space into your Mind. It can be helpful for certain things, such as constructing dimensional pockets, but there are better concepts that can offer the same result. Vision, or Senses, or whatever you want to call it--that’s what you want.”
Cyril hummed softly. “That’s what I was thinking. Especially if I’m going to be delving into the depths of the underworld, comprehending the Space around me will be extremely beneficial. I think I can also link it to my seismic senses as a scouting tool.”
“Spatial Senses will offer you far more than that, depending on how much you invest.” Soren shrugged. “I like you, so here’s another bit of advice. Another reason that people generally don’t integrate Space, especially drows, is because at a certain point, you begin to see the underlying web of the cosmos. And whatever people discover, it inevitably turns them into rambling lunatics.”
“Are the secrets behind reality so terrible?” said Cyril.
“Absolutely. Even Spatial Senses will be pushing it if you advance far enough down that path. If you glimpse upon the Material Heart itself with a developed Spatial Vision active, it may be just as bad as understanding the underlying nature of our world. It’d be a shame if you did make it all the way down there and ended up mad.”
Cyril swallowed. A heavy silence hung between them for a minute. Eventually, Cyril forced himself to smile.
“Come with me then,” he said. “Join the pilgrimage at my side and keep me on the right path.”
“We drows are forbidden from going deeper than the initial Layers. I would be exiled from my people, never allowed to return.”
Cyril’s smile grew a touch. “And?”
Soren tilted his head back and laughed, startling several of the nearby cultivators deep in meditation. “Toss in another Spirit Fruit and you’ve got a deal, boy.”