Two sat in her house’s impromptu classroom. Doing her best not to fidget. She was failing. She sighed and checked everything again.

She wrote a deep blue dress trimmed with white. That covered her from wrist to ankle. Her black hair was tied into a bun by a gold ribbon. The ensemble felt excessive. Yet simple compared to what she’d seen yesterday.

Still, drab was better jumped up urchin. At least she hoped so. She tore her gaze away.

Following that principle. Two solid desks on either side of the room. One for her the other the teachers. A blackboard along with a litany of utensils stood behind the other desk. A small pile of books sat on hers.

She wasn’t sure how all of this had been gathered. Either the governor was far more organized Or Abery was truly exceptional. She pictured the woman overwhelmed and slowly drowning beneath a pile of forms. She’d thank Abery later.

Two sets of footsteps sounded up the stairs. Aberys’ soft shuffle, joined heavy thuds. She settled her thoughts and any ticks that might give them away. Now the final question. To stand or sit.

She rose before Abery opened the door. A pleasant smile on her lips. Betrayed nothing as her teacher, barreled past the smaller man without a glance.

“Good mourning,” she said with a slight tilt of her head. While her eyes swept over him.

Clad blue so dark it melted into his suit’s dominant black. The man wore his luxurious garments like a drape, that swallowed his thin frame. Yet failed to match his towering height

His blue eyes swept the room and lit with derision. He eyed his chair and dragged it back. The sound grated. Then sat, resting one bone-white hand on the table. The other cradled his head. Pale grey horns sprouted from his ears, to curl through his hair. The room dimmed in his presence.

His eyes fell on her from a mop of messy curls. Cold as ice.

Stress surged, then passed her by. Annoyance followed its wake. Another cultivator, she didn’t need a taste tell. She should’ve expected it. Still, she drank the air.

He smelt off. Not the nebulous wrongness that afflicted her. Hidden by the necklace she wore beneath her clothes. No, it a stale air and decrepit flowers. Decay without the energy to rot. She couldn’t place an emotion to it.

“Thank you Abery,” she glanced at the nervous servant. He flashed a smile and retreated with unusual haste. “And thank you for coming …” she turned back.

He observed her with an impenetrable gaze. “Rhevier. I have the dubious pleasure of educating you. Per my sister’s wishes.” His voice was a deep groan.

Two noticed the blue scales peeking beneath his sleeves. Her smile brightened, she bowed and then sat. “I’m not sure how to greet-.”

“Stop, if you ever met an imperial who cared for your scarping they wouldn’t bother speaking to you. Let’s not waste my time.” He glanced at the prepared utensils, then retrieved a booklet and pen from his breast pocket. He flipped it open. “What do you know about cultivation.” He leaned back as if the chair were a throne.

Two strolled through her prepared lines. “Cultivation is the process of refining one’s emotions and through them, your heart. Expanding upon them until desires can affect the world and influence others.” She’d spent hours parsing half remembered anecdotes and tales, to simplify the full breadth of humanity’s legacy. Yet the words were insufficient to explain the process that turned Daisy’s anger into a physical force.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Rhevier nodded, “In short, nothing,” he wrote in his booklet. “What do you know about the labyrinth of One.”

She took a moment to ensure her expression was still pleasant. “The labyrinth of One is a great spirit. Most commonly referred to in children’s stories. They are said to exist in mirrors and other reflections and will show those who call their name who they truly are.” She scratched her neck, “Sorry if it’s not much, I didn’t think those stories were true until the governor mentioned them.” She added a touch of embarrassment to her voice.

Rhevier nodded and wrote. “Slightly more than nothing.” He said evenly. He snapped the book shut. His attention was centred on her. “As you are you will die and ruin whatever game Lancet is playing.” With that deceleration, he fell silent. Staring vacantly through her

“And?” Two said with faint incredulity tinged with annoyance, “Isn’t it your job to change that.”

“Indeed,” he sighed tiredly.

Two felt tired too. This was the man responsible for guiding her through a life threatening encounter with a spirit. The wilted rose hadn’t even bothered to say good morning!

Her ‘teacher’ shook his head. “Let us begin with the basics of the aforementioned topics. Cultivation and the Labyrinth. Listen closely I am loath to repeat myself.”

Two opened one of her notebooks and readied a pen. She sent a silent thank you to Daisy for teaching her to write.

His voice rose beyond a bored drawl. Touched by the embers of something brighter. His stale scent lightened “Cultivation, at its simplest, is spiritual surgery. Banish any thoughts of sprouting seeds the name might bring. It is a linguistic remnant of less enlightened times.” Derision touched his voice, before fading.

“Sampling, culturing, splicing amputating, and other words you can look up in a dictionary latter are the staple of the first cycle. Typically months or weeks are spent familiarizing oneself with their emotional tissues, and mental tools. The first surgery is then when cultivation begins

His lecturing tone fell, and his words grew pointed, “With this perspective, I hope you understand why your odds are so poor.”

She ignored his snark and focused on her notes. She didn’t like where logic was leading. “Where does the labyrinth come into play, I don’t think the governor would set me a hopeless task.” She let concern through her mask.

“Yes, that would be in rather poor taste. The labyrinth will do as you alluded to earlier, show you yourself. So you can shortcut all the effort.” He huffed. “Replacing meticulous self-awareness, with metaphors and imagery.”

“Then where is the danger?”

He looked at her as if she were an idiot. He sighed and retrieved his booklet. Another note was added. “ You will be conducting very real surgery with metaphors and imagery.”

She looked over her other question. Only one merited looking like an idiot. “You say cultivation is surgery. If that is literal, then shouldn’t there be safe or superficial ones I could do? Metaphorical or otherwise.”

The long dead, ghost of a smile touched his cheeks. “It seems like you aren’t stupid. Merely uneducated, yes there are more and less dangerous procedures. However, you must remember the distinction between spiritual and material. The spirit has no superficial parts. Unless you would like to experiment with certain unwanted memories.” He raised a brow.

A shudder ran up two’s spine. “I’d rather not.”

He nodded and checked his booklet. “Well then Two it seems you merit some expectation. Judging by your name I suspect it’s the first time.”

She blinked slowly. It gave time to compose herself. “I’ll do my best to exceed your expectations.” She fell into a familiar calm.

He glanced at her. He met her eyes, his lips quirked. “Did I offend you?”

“No Rhevier, I’ve heard every joke about my name. Children can be quite cruel. It helps you grow a thick skin.” It didn’t stop the ache in her chest. Nor the grinding glacier that sat behind her soft words.

He chuckled and made a note. “I have offended you. I won’t apologise as it was my intention. I will however say it was without malice.”

She relaxed her tensed muscles. “Why,”

“To understand you of course, How could I teach without any familiarity with what emotions drive you.” He picked up one of the books she’d provided. Furiously scribbling ensued.

She watched him burn through pages. His pen flew at speeds beyond the mundane. She’d lost his measure. Perhaps he wasn’t a prick.

“And I couldn’t be bothered looking for your positive emotions.”

Complete prick, she amended