Okay, I’m ready.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Sitting in the field made a slow stream of nostalgia flood through Isaac. These were the training fields, illuminated by the glow of flood lights, where he had begun his cultivation journey, sparred with Kieran, and shook Reed’s hand in the moonlight. The changing of the seasons had yellowed the grass and largely emptied the fields - many cultivators preferred to train indoors because Arcadian winters could get quite cold. Indeed, Isaac, even with his eyes closed, could sense the slight shift in energy right in front of his mouth as his breath condensed in the air.
The hard part, the part that kept many inside, was just getting to the field. Braving the elements when instead, they could remain inside, blankets close at hand, seemed unappealing to most. But Isaac enjoyed the feeling of the winter chill on him, even if he felt it through several layers of wool undergarments and an even heavier greatcoat. But as he cultivated, he could’ve discarded them, and in fact almost did - much like an athlete in a sports game, the physical effort of cultivation warmed him through and through. The act of cultivation also made concepts like "cold" disappear as he focused within himself. Once Isaac was in the groove, all his thoughts drifted away, the body’s perception of cold disappearing into the early night. Warmth spread from his dantian in the stomach and drifted through his body, with two lines in particular spreading through him like a subway network - the first meridian he ever dug from his dantian to his right hand, and then spur line from there to his right eye.
Stars twinkled above. Isaac hadn’t been able to truly cultivate in at least a month now - first came repairing his collapsed lung while he was on crutches, then came fixing his legs so he could get off said crutches. The scars were still there, splotches of gray doll-like skin where the fall from Polyphemus smashed his legs like taking a hammer to a pumpkin. Once he fixed his lungs and legs - along with the various other lacerations on his body that left him with bits and pieces of gray on every limb and then some - he had to get himself back into a general state of combat readiness, just getting used to throwing punches and the Fists of Anji again. He finished just in time for the tavern raid; the successful mission to the Department of Domestic Security Third District Headquarters proved he was back in the saddle.
Isaac couldn’t help but grin. He hadn’t felt this good in a long while, and not just because he had also fully recovered from the multiple concussions he received courtesy of Zou Mei and Babs, either. He finally had a direction again. He could get out there and start researching and cultivating and improving like he used to, before Kieran died and Babs died and a whole lot of people died, many of them killed by Isaac himself. He didn’t like to think about that part - he pushed it away. All Reed felt when she was killed was recoil; Isaac tried to not feel anything at all.
So rather than think about that, he focused on his next steps in his journey. He had multiple cultivation projects to start, along with further research into the conspiracy. Sitting on that field, Isaac wouldn’t hit Circuit 2B today, but he made progress towards it, good progress, and that was enough to make him open his eyes, smack his fist, and keep moving forward.
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Isaac came to a halt outside the door to Reed’s room in the makeshift barracks. As a cultivator, they all got their own rooms, which were now located inside an old brick building repurposed for housing after the Mind destroyed their old barracks during the past autumn. After a few knocks, a muffled “come in” granted Isaac entry.
“Hey, I heard Dan was here-”
Isaac stopped, because Dan was indeed here. Reed’s small room was typical of any cadet - a bed, desk, chair, peeling green paint on the walls, a lone flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling. She littered her desk with several books, most of them publications from the Arcadian Navy Media Committee. One of the books was flipped to a page with pictures of movie stars. Reed herself, leaning against a wall, mumbled under her breath, still studying her hand.
Dan sat on her bed, his wooden staff leaning against the wall. He had unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a slick patch of wispy chest hair. Isaac elected to ignore that and slouched against a wall.
“Ah, perfect, a captive audience,” Dan proclaimed, rubbing his hands together.
Isaac looked back and forth between them. “You were in the middle of something.”
“Dan’s teaching me how to act,” Reed explained, closing her fist. Her eyes then bugged out. “Because I just don’t FUCKING GET IT!”
Reed kicked her desk, which jostled it hard enough for a drawer to open. Her hand immediately bolted for a half-empty bottle of whiskey, but Dan’s staff, suddenly in his hand, reached out and stopped her.
“Turning to the bottle is the reason many of those involved in the art of the thee-at-er burn out,” Dan reminded her. “We must meet our demons head on, with a clear mind.”
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Reed retracted her hand. “Sorry, sorry. You came at a bad time, Isaac. My body and voice just can’t match the passion in my soul.”
“...uh-huh. Remind me again why you’re in an acting mood?”
Strands of brown hair danced across her forehead as Reed frowned. “I told you. I got the part in the New Year’s pageant.”
That did make Isaac straighten up a little. “You mean the big one in the capital square? That’s one of the most prestigious plays in the country-”
“EXACTLY!” Reed grabbed Isaac’s collars and shook him. “There’s so much FUCKING pressure Isaac and all these FUCKING eyes will be on me Isaac and I have to be FUCKING perfect Isaac otherwise my acting career will never take off!”
In turn, Isaac grabbed her collars and shook her. “I thought you said you were content with being you, rather than chasing after the idea of a big-name actress.”
As Reed looked away, her face took on a red tint and she scratched the outside of her nose. “It’s different now. I don’t want to be an actress to be famous. I want to be an actress because it’s something I genuinely like to do.” Then the grip on his collars tightened again. “SO I CAN’T FUCK IT UP!”
Isaac felt his eyes bounce around his sockets. “If you’re this stressed, how big of a part did you get?”
Rather than answer, Reed stared at him and frowned. Dan answered from the bed.
“Ice Spirit #6.”
“And how many lines does Ice Spirit #6 have?”
Dan let Reed answer. Her face turned an ever brighter shade of scarlet as she stared at some nondescript spot on the floor.
“Two.”
Isaac studied her for a moment. “...pfft.”
His eyes nearly bounced out of his face entirely as Reed stood up on her tip-toes and shook him by the ears. His stomach nearly burst, too, from how hard he was laughing.
“You’re this stressed by two lines? No wonder you’ve been looking at your palm, all of your lines could fit in it!”
Isaac kept laughing and she kept shaking him until she ended up flicking him in the nose and cursing in his general direction before retiring back to her spot on the wall. While a big smile remained on his face, he glanced at her, only for her to cross her arms and let out a “hmph” and look in the other direction, away from him.
“You have a few weeks,” Dan encouraged. “You’ll be fine.”
Reed muttered something about Dan's mother and the sexual relations she regularly had with her. Then she went back to studying the lines she had scrawled across her palm, as if the two men were no longer there in her room with her.
Dan ran a hand through his black hair. “What did you need me for, Isaac?”
From within his greatcoat, Isaac produced the book they had found in the Zhanghai depot. “I was gonna ask for your help with translating this. It’s written in Zhanghai, and you got that dictionary and all. And I know I could grab one myself, but I wouldn’t even know where to start with the translation.”
“Probably with the cover,” Reed muttered, not lifting her eyes from her lines.
Isaac also elected to ignore that. “Would you be able to help?”
“Sorry, my friend,” Dan said. “I’ll be with Reed for the next few days as her acting coach.”
Isaac tilted his head. “A few days? But she has two lines.”
“It’s not just the lines,” Dan answered, loud passion rising in his voice. “It’s about the body language, the hand motions, the way you glide across that magnificent stage, the costume trailing behind you, one hand raised to the heavens as you dothly proclaim your heart to the very world soul!”
“...uh-huh.” Isaac glanced down at the book with its weathered green cover and sleek, black Zhanghai characters on it. “So you’re saying I should find somebody else to help?”
“Your best bet would be Bell. He studied Zhanghai while with the Research Bureau. He’s not completely fluent, but knows enough to help.”
Isaac frowned. Again, Bell had done nothing wrong beyond his mere existence and joining Squad 3Reed with said existence. But Isaac thought about the time when he first reached out to Babs for help, how warm he felt when their backs touched against each other that night in early autumn, and how warm her blood was when he killed her. He didn’t want it to happen again.
“Maybe I’ll find the translators in the Zhanghai Regiment,” Isaac proposed instead. “They oughta be fluent.”
With an empathetic look on his face, Dan rose from his bed. He gave Isaac a playful poke in the chest. “Are you afraid of getting betrayed again?”
The frown turned even deeper. “What? No. I don’t like the idea of talking with someone I just met about things that are important to me. I don’t feel comfortable trusting him.”
“Because if you do trust him, you’re afraid that the betrayal you see as inevitable will hurt even more?” Dan glided around the room, hands raised to the ceiling. “Ah, but you see, that betrayal isn’t inevitable. It’s all in your head. You’ve been hurt, and that hurt makes you lash out and distrust others. But don’t be afraid, young Isaac. Getting hurt is part of growing up. And so is learning to trust in others again.”
“Stick to acting,” Isaac muttered, tucking the book away back in his greatcoat.
“If I had to choose a spirit animal for you,” Dan concluded. “I would choose the bird, since much like their annual migration to warmer climes, you choose to fly away from your feelings. But, as always, they return home, as will you, my friend.”
“And if I had to choose a spirit animal or whatever for you,” Isaac countered with a grin. “I’d choose the mighty jackass.”
Reed exhaled through her nose. Dan cocked his head and laughed, and the sight of him being so carefree and happy stuck with Isaac as he trudged through the cold to the Naval Archives.