Disappointment did nudge at him a little. Myrkas' dreams of piloting a mecha or of an owl bearing magical letters were down the drain. The typical, western medieval setting was also out. The people's skin colours varied too much, from "burns-like-a-lobster on a cloudy day" to "century-old varnished walnut-wood hard floor." The architecture did not fit the typical castle town. The roofs were too flat, with curved extremities, and half-sphere domes on the taller buildings here and there. The ensemble gave more of an ancient Eastern to Middle Eastern flair to the urban environment.

Despite the setting, Myrkas had yet to encounter any flashy ninjas, jade beauties, or entitled young masters. It might have escaped his notice that his own circumstances could qualify him as a so-called young master.

While their absence did not confirm anything, it did narrow down the list quite a bit. At least Myrkas had not ended up in a lower technology mundane world. Imagining leaving modern times, with cellphones and other conveniences for a good-old, magic-less, elbow-grease-powered world made Myrkas shudder. He quickly thanked again any divine entity in his vicinity for having avoided this fate.

Myrkas couldn't help but be a little worried about his assumed protagonist status. While it usually meant great rewards, protagonists' trajectories were often not straight and involved more pain and sorrows than Myrkas cared for. And while he had all but confirmed to now live in a not entirely typical cultivation world, Myrkas had yet to see overt cultivators: those powerful people on the road to immortality and ascension.

His immediate entourage also lacked any obvious co-leads or important secondary characters. Myrkas himself was pretty plain for a main character. He had no fancy hairdo with natural, two-toned hair or a striking eye color or even a magical birthmark. He was a little disappointed, to be honest. Almost enough to make him doubt his lead character status. Almost.

Another crucial clue, harems were a thing here. Widely accepted and not just for stupidly rich people who could get away with it. Very much double standards though, as they were always composed of one man with any number of women. Absolutely no reverse, whatsoever. As a hopeful romantic, waiting anxiously for his one true love, Myrkas disliked the whole one-sided harem concept. Especially with Nirrina just thrown at his uncle, like mere chattel. It wasn't right. He wasn't sure how exactly marriage worked here, but from what Myrkas knew, it smelled fishy.

Something to dwell on later, though. He first needed power and influence to be able to change anything. Myrkas had to build his strength to protect Nirrina. His envisioned future awesomeness was only a happy side-effect.

Before Myrkas could ponder any further, the door opened. His uncle, Koriss, entered. Like the previous night, the older man settled on Myrkas' bed without a word in greeting. A heavy silence followed, neither relative knowing how to start the conversation.

"You scared me," confessed Koriss. "Not your fault, of course. Never your fault, boy, but maybe mine. I thought I would lose you. That Nirrina girl was beside herself, sick with worry. And just as we finally get her to rest, you wake up."

Sharp amber eyes, the same as his own, looked back at Myrkas.

"Sorry," Koriss choked out, looking away, embarrassed. "I'm not good at this boy, never been. And I can't keep calling you boy, it's not right. Humm... Myrkas, Myrkassa," the man paused, hesitating.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Kassa, talk to me please."

"I don't know what to say," Myrkas said, his voice feeble. "I'm lost too."

Silence stretched anew between them, although much lighter.

"I can help with that, I think," Koriss said. "Kassa, the day that fire... burned, I don't know what you remember. Might be better if you don't. Anyway, when I found you, you had stopped breathing. Your body was burned so bad, almost charred. You kept making this terrible wheeze every few seconds, followed by a weak cough of ash and blood. If we'd been even a little later... If Nirrina had not come straight to me..."

Myrkas' uncle stopped for a moment, his eyes glassy, unfocused. Myrkas was transfixed. He swallowed thickly, throat suddenly dry. Flashes of heat, pain, and panic busted in the boy's mind. He closed his eyes and could not help but listen on.

"I dumped every healing salve I had on you. Every potions, elixirs, and pills. I thank Allrikh every day I carried enough. That trauma, that kind of damage Kassa, it can reach deeper. Go beyond the physical and seep through to your soul.

"You're strong, boy. A lot more than me. Got out of it. Survived on sheer will."

Koriss gingerly reached for his nephew's shoulder, gave it a short squeeze, and retreated his hand. Following a deep breath, the man went on.

"I can sense Qi you know, comes with the profession. Any half-decent alchemist needs to cultivate. Bare mortals are but charlatans, snake-oil salesmen.

"There was Qi in that fire. Not natural those flames. They had intent, a foreign will was driving them. I don't know who, how or why but they will pay. This, I promise you, Kassa."

Koriss sighed again.

"Your soul, boy, it cracked, got damaged. I am not much of a healer but I can still tell some. Again, comes with the alchemy. It's odd. The soul is protected, hard to reach. You never cultivated, never carved meridians or tried to open one of your gates. There should not have been a path for the fire to flow through. And the cracks didn't feel burned. It was almost as if the force came from your soul, not the other way around. It's baffling. Makes no sense. I hoped time was all you needed, didn't want to make it worse. The girl was right though, I should have given you the elixir earlier."

Koriss's shoulders dropped under unseen burdens. His expression was dour. The man was wary.

"What's done is done," he said. "It worked, praise Allrikh it worked."

Koriss stood to leave on these words. In an instant, Myrkas grabbed his sleeve, stopping the man.

"What does it mean?" the boy asked, uncertainty in his voice.

Myrkas recalled all too well his agony and confusion marring the past days.

"I don't know;' Koriss answered. "Some marks are left, scars in your soul. They are hard to detect by now. But there to find if one knows what to look for. The soul remains the least understood of the three planes. Your body is fine though. Few scars in your throat and lungs. Explains why your voice is a little hoarse."

Koriss paused to think, a faraway look in his eyes. His lips moved silently while his hands made intermittent jerking motions. He looked half-crazed for a minute, a madman.

"Your Qi plane is fine, Kassa. No change, gates closed. No awakened bloodline I can see. And your soul, with the scars and the elixir, I really can't say. Your soul is your core, your link to fate, Karma, your sense of self, and your memories. Your soul is the one immortal plane you have, the one piece going through reincarnations. What it means, I do not know. Anything or nothing. Maybe everything. I wish I could tell you, Kassa. It's beyond me."

The two kept silent awhile, lost in thoughts. Then, grunting, Koriss stood again to leave.

"I'll go get the girl. She should have rested enough. She'll want to know you're okay. Scared her half to death again," Koriss murmured as he left.