In the time that we’d spent underground in the Library, daylight had begun to fade and the moon now sat low and heavy in the sky. In my village, my family would be retiring back to our small home, with maybe a small fire to ward away the cold and only the faint sound of the First Son in the distance to break up the peace of the night. But there was no peace to be found in the Sect, still filled with life and noise as mortal servants and labourers shouted and shoved their way along the islands’ many bridges and paths, to deliver their cargo to their unsleeping masters.

Our first destination involved a return trip back along the main boulevard, where we dove into the midst of the nocturnal crowds. The masses still served as suitable cover to hide me from the eyes of those Disciples looking for me, but it was clear that as the hours had passed, the Sect’s desire to find me had grown; more Inner Disciples walked along the boulevard, carefully inspecting every Outer Disciple they came across for any resemblance to me. Of course, to a noble, us commoners all looked the same; we walked past one unfortunate lookalike in robes, who was swearing up and down that his name was Miklos and that he’d never heard of this ‘Ryan’ fellow.

“Surprised they haven’t just locked the islands down,” Isabella called out, once again jumping above my head from signpost to signpost, avoiding the masses below. “Checkpoint gates, or something like that!”

If they tried that, then the Sect would grind to a halt, I grunted, hauling a barrel that I’d found tucked away in an alley. They might try to ignore mortals when it’s convenient, but they can’t ignore the fact that they do the heavy lifting around here.

“What about in that Alley of yours?”

I had to stifle a laugh at that, just as an Inner Disciple’s gaze landed on me. The resulting sound was a faintly embarrassing grunt which soon had the cultivator’s eyes looking elsewhere in search of a better target. If they tried that in the Alley, then any checkpoint would be missing its gates in five minutes.

“Convenient for us, then,” Isabella muttered, dropping down from one sign into a bit of open space at my side. “So, what, you’ve got a cache you need to get from your place?”

Definitely not. I sped up a bit to match the pace of a passing cart, using it to block off the vision of a small cluster of Inner Disciples that were watching everyone suspiciously from the other side of the boulevard. They might not be putting a checkpoint on every crossing, but there’s no doubt they’ll have someone stationed at my shack. Besides, there’s nothing there of any importance.

“The island, then?” Isabella’s expression scrunched up. “What’s the point if everyone would be looking for you in your robes?”

Now past the Inner Disciples, I fell back and cut across the traffic, ignoring the shouts of those I cut off as I walked down into the side street. I don’t care so much about the robes, but there’s something in them I still need.

“Something in them? What do you mean by that, Ryan?”

It’ll be quick, I promise, I replied silently as we moved further down the side street, away from the crowds and the watchful eyes of the guards. I lowered the barrel down from my shoulder into a small space next to a building’s foundations, hopefully where it would remain unbothered until I returned to collect it. I looked at Isabella and inclined my head along the lane. “C’mon, this way.”

“What’s this damn thing you’re looking for, anyway?” Isabella grilled me, stalking behind as we took a right down some steps, leading us back to the hidden island. “Some magical pill? A special technique? A flying, talking sword?”

“The closest thing to a valuable cultivation resource that has touched my robes is your scythe,” I retorted, crossing the bridge that stretched out to the island. In the mild dark of the night the outcropping was now cast in shades of blue, the moon’s light filtered through the mist of the waterfalls around us. I didn’t waste any time approaching the bench that sat near the edge of the island, reaching behind its leg to retrieve the bundled up parcel of thick fabric. I slowly unfolded the robes on top of the bench, extracting the letters that had been hidden within. In the low light, I could barely make out the characters on the parchment, but I’d long since memorised every word written on the twenty or so pages that I had in my hands.

“Letters?” I looked up at Isabella, who’d moved to my side to peer over my shoulder. She shot me an unimpressed look. “This is your priority right now?”

“Yeah.” I chuckled awkwardly, carefully folding the pages up. “Sorry for the detour, but- hey!”

Ignoring my cry, Isabella had grabbed the letters from my hands before I could tuck them away in my pocket, and was quickly shuffling through them all, bracing her scythe in between her shoulder and neck. “So what’s this here, then? Some romantic letters from the loved one you left behind, begging you to return?” Isabella lifted one of the letters up to the moon, the parchment glowing as the light shone through, the black ink standing out starkly against the backlit page. At their reveal, Isabella seemed to falter slightly.

Ryan,

Your mother wishes you well.

We still cannot believe your fortune. The Gods must be smiling upon you. The harvest was good, so they must smile on us as well.

Prove yourself, Ryan. I cannot wait to see how far you will go.

“It’s from my family.” I took the letters out of Isabella’s hand as delicately as I could, doing my best to smooth out the wrinkles left behind in the bundle of parchment as I shot her a pointed glare. “I’d thank you for being a bit more careful with it.”

“Sorry.” Isabella muttered, moving her now-free hand to scratch at her head, looking away towards the waterfall. “So, a family, huh? Nearby?”

I shook my head, looking out over the world beyond the waterfalls. “The village doesn’t even have a name. Just somewhere along the First Son. We have a small herd of sheep. My father fishes when the season is good. Not much more to it.”

“Can’t believe they’d be so damn proud of a cultivator,” she muttered. “Though not so proud now, huh? You told them about how far you’ve fallen?”

I sighed, staring at the letter in my hand. “No. I never told them about it.” I lowered the parchment, allowing the words to fade into the darkness once more. “I…don’t think I’ve sent them more than a single letter since those first six months.”

Isabella blinked, watching my face. “You’re not joking.”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“No.”

Once more I was grabbed by the shirt front as the avatar of Death pulled me down to her level, her expression a rictus of fury as she hissed into my ear. “You have a family out there and you’ve been too much of a fucking coward to tell them anything? What sort of son are you?”

An awful one who’s struggling to keep his damn head afloat, who doesn’t want the crushing weight of embarrassment of failing to live up to his parent’s hopes and dreams. “What good would it even do?” I muttered back. “What good would it be to show them what a poor idea it was to put their faith in me?”

“At least then they’d know that their son was alive!” Isabella pushed me back, sending me stumbling, almost going to catch myself before clutching my hands, still filled with letters, close to the chest. My back hit the ground with a thump, the slight pain instantly soothed by the Ruby Tears that still ran through my veins. I laid there for a moment, holding the letters close and looking up at the sky above, the moon haloed by the mist of the waterfall and the stars that draped themselves around it. They stared down on me, waiting for my answer.

“...This isn’t life.” I told Death. “To scrape at the feet of my betters, to scratch out some miserable existence while they live without care for any of us? At least as a farmer, the cruelty of cultivators was so utterly beyond us that it may as well have been gravity, a force of nature. What sort of son would tell their parents that they’re worse off than they’ve ever been, just barely surviving?”

“The sort of son who could,” she replied icily. “The sort of son who appreciates what it means to still be able to talk to them at all.”

I glanced up at Isabella, who looked out over the world beyond. Her jaw was set, face stiff as her eyes scanned out over the Seven Siblings, as if searching. I noticed just how tightly she clutched the scythe in her hand. My stomach fell, and I let out a slow breath. I’m so sorry.

Her knuckles turned white. “They knew, at least. They were the ones to bury me.” She turned her head back to me, eyes sharp. “And your parents don’t even have that.”

I let my head roll to the side, looking over the edge of the outcrop, over the dark world beyond the Sect. Here and there, alongside the dark curves of rivers that stretched to the horizon, I could spot a few bits of light. A village, a town, a smithy still at work late into the night. And somewhere in it all, a one room house in a meadow.

What would happen if I went back? I rolled the thought around in my mind. The thought of returning back home to that building, still bigger than the shack I inhabited in the Sect. I envisioned seeing my mother, dropping a wash basin upon seeing me, instantly wrapping me in her arms. I could see my father running through the fields, called by a sheer whistle, freezing ten paces from me as he finally saw my face.

I could see both of theirs, as I explained what had happened. The pain, the disappointment, the anger.

I could see…acceptance. A grim acknowledgement. What was our fate as peasants but to die? At least I’d tried. They would still welcome me back, no matter the failure. Into that small house that I once called a home.

It would be nice.

But I couldn’t do it.

“You’re right,” I said, rolling forward onto my feet, quickly folding the letters once more and stowing them away in my pocket. “They deserve to know their son is alive. They deserve for their son to be alive. But all I’ve done that for two and a half years is survive, and look where that got me. And based on this past week, the lesson I’ve learnt is that I’m going to get a hell of a lot further by dying instead.”

“What sort of ridiculous assertion is that?” Isabella bit out. “You’re just going to keep running away?”

Never again. “I’m done running away. Especially from my family.” I reached down to the bench, grabbing the robe from where I’d unrolled it. I began to bundle it up again, wrapping it around with the belt until it formed a solid ball, which I held before me in my hands. “So we’re going to make a detour.” I tossed the ball off the outcropping, and watched it sail off into the darkness, soon disappearing into the mist that covered the bottom of the falls. “There dies Ryan the Outer Disciple,” I declared, clapping my hands together. “Now, for the first step of Ryan the Dropout’s life; to tell his parents what a disappointment he is. I hope that’s okay with you.” Hell of a way to meet the parents, but nothing for it.

“T-that-” For a moment, the avatar of Death was caught between anger and embarrassment, before settling on shaking her head and glaring at me once more. “Aren’t you forgetting your priorities? You should be helping me figure out what the hell you cultivators are doing!”

I raised one finger. “Firstly, I’m not a cultivator.” Not anymore. I raised another finger. “Secondly, of course I will. Right after I tell my parents what a disappointment I am, I get to tell them I need to leave again.” I returned Isabella’s glare with a grin. “I’ll just let them know I gave a girl a promise to figure out the mysteries of death itself. I consider myself something of an expert on dying now, so who better to do that than me?”

“...You’re ridiculous.” Isabella sighed, the last of her frustration falling from her, pressing her head against her scythe with her eyes closed as she took a slow breath. After a moment, she opened her eyes, straightening up and turning towards the bridge. “Come on.”

I followed after her, only casting one more glance out in the direction of the world below, to the small dots of light littered across the world, mirrored by the stars above. Then, we were back into the warren of lanes, surrounded by the gently lit lanterns that loomed out over the streets. I recovered my barrel easily enough, hefting it up once more, and with just a nod from Isabella, we kept moving.

Back on the boulevard, I did notice that the presence of Inner Disciples had slimmed somewhat. While those on the Third Step and above hardly needed a great amount of sleep, they would still take the time to relax and indulge in their petty luxuries. That left only a few of the more dedicated Disciples to stalk the streets, their eyes sharp for their prey and stomach hungry for whatever bounty the Sect had put on me. Judging by one of the posters I saw attached at their waist, it was clear the importance of catching me had gone up.

But they still suffered the blind pride of any cultivator, who could not fathom that any one of them would debase themselves to such lengths. And I hadn’t simply chosen to remove my robes for an advantage at disguise; I’d gone ahead and thrown them right to the bottom of the falls. May they rot away down there.

The thought was freeing and terrifying in equal measure. Gone were those stifling robes, freeing me of their expectations and scratchy texture forever. And with that freedom came the knowledge that I’d abandoned whatever protection I’d gained as a Disciple, however theoretical it might have already been. I’d have to be as careful as possible as I made my way out, refusing to give any chance for any of the Disciples to see me.

But as Isabella and I moved east along the islands, through streets and over bridges that grew emptier and emptier of those search parties, a pit began to open in my stomach again. There’s another reason why they wouldn’t put a checkpoint along the boulevard, isn’t there?

“Hmm?” Isabella turned to look at me, raising an eyebrow at my thought. “Is there? You said it’d bring the Sect to a halt.”

I did. I cut away into another side street, only a bare few crossings away from the Lifts. I dropped the barrel to the ground with a thunk, immediately jumping up onto it and climbing up the side of a building, my fingers digging into the carved marble relief as I pulled myself up its side. But they’re looking for someone trying to make their escape. Why bother searching every bridge, when there’s one place they know they’re going to?

Isabella swore, even as she followed me up onto the building’s terrace. There, we both looked off into the distance, towards where the last of the Falls poured off the Sect, to where the last of the islands sat, its surface dedicated entirely to the gargantuan mechanism that led to the world below.

Sat there at the very entrance to the Lifts, their power blazing in the dark, was a Core Disciple.