“Again,” Aera sighed. He’d been way too distracted over the last hour.
And far too cheerful.
He’d shown some focus halfway through the session, when she mentioned they were going to practice grappling. He’d mentioned that he’d been having trouble with that during his class, and she knew that they’d have to get around to it eventually. Grappling wasn’t all about brute strength, sometimes it was about using what little strength you could leverage in just the right place.
But she could tell that his heart wasn’t in the training today. He was elsewhere. So she’d decided that they’d just practice movements for the rest of her portion. A bit of conditioning and strength training never hurt anyone. Until he twisted his wrist the wrong way, during a move that really shouldn’t have been possible to mess up. And yet, his cheer didn’t seem to fade. She could usually read his frustration— even over the last few weeks. She’d noticed his ability to focus and be present during the session had leveled up, but even then, there was always a sense that he was disappointed with his lack of ability to keep up with her, or match her strength.
Not that he was alone in that regard, she was stronger than the average fully grown man. But to Hunter, she was just another example to showcase a deficiency he’d been dealing with his whole life. It it wasn't like she wanted to try and assuage whatever complex he’d fostered in that time, as it seemed to be pushing him in the right direction. Eventually she’d recommend him a therapist, or something to help him deal with that. She didn’t consider it her job to manage his emotions.
Besides, up until today, he seemed to be doing okay. But something must have happened in the last 24 hours that had left a positive impact on him. Her bet was that it was a girl.
That wasn't necessarily a problem, if it remained casual. But if it started to get serious, she would need to have a talk with him about significant emotional connections. She’d ask her people to find out what they could. It might be a bit of a breach of privacy, but she could never be too careful these days. He would understand.
Or he wouldn’t, which would be his problem, and not hers.
“Alright, we’re done,” she said, and Hunter collapsed from the plank position he’d manage to hold for a whole 20 seconds.
No improvement since the last time, but she wasn’t expecting much to change day to day.
They both walked back to their apartment building and washed up, meeting in the cafeteria with their notebooks. This time she brought a small construct she’d been assembling in her spare time, hoping to get Hunters take on it.
He seemed to open up a lot more during his portion of the sessions. Given his mood, he was probably going to address the elephant in the room, and she wanted to get to work before he had a chance to inquire.
Unfortunately, when Hunter had a burning curiosity, he could be even faster than her.
“So, about the black eye,” he said, staring at the newest feature of her face, a swelling of skin colored various shades of red and purple.
“Fell pretty bad this morning,” she said, pushing the construct in front of him, “tell me what you think of this.”
He stared at the construct, and then back at her eye.
“Did you fall face first onto a bowling pin?”
“Something like that. Construct. Look. Now,” she said, practically gritting her teeth.
Hunter sighed and examined the construct, which was a series of glyphs etched into a block of wood.
It was the first one she’d made without referencing a guide, and she was rather proud of it.
“Did you find it in a kindergarten class? I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said, looking at the block with a confused expression.
She was tempted to snatch it back from him, and walk away.
“I mean, it works?” he said, his voice still uncertain. She sighed.
“Room for improvement?” she asked him, really wishing that these session weren’t necessary. She could always find another tutor.
But the unfortunate fact of the matter is that they probably wouldn’t be as good as Hunter was.
Hunters eyebrows rose, considering the block in a new light.
“You made this?” he mumbled, making that look that he always did when he had something he wanted to say but didn’t want her to know. His lips would purse, and his eyebrows would furrow slightly. It was almost contemplative, until he tilted his chin down. That was the clear giveaway, like he was forcing himself not to speak.
“Well you’ve got the fundamentals down, but today I want to walk you through a better way of routing the channels. And I personally would have made a few different choices in terms of glyph placement, which we can talk about as well. For a beginner project, I'd give it a pass,” he said, handing it back to her and pulling out some pads of paper.
“Out of 10,” she said. She wanted to hear what he really thought. He should know her better by now.
She wasn’t going to be content with such a vague answer like that, especially when he was lying through his teeth.
Apparently, he understood her tone.
“Maybe a 5?” he said carefully, gauging her reaction. She wanted to slap him, but settled with a glower.
“Okay, I'd give it a 4. It’s not great, but its good progress. You wouldn’t have been able to do this a couple of weeks ago, right?”
She nodded, taking the block back.
Any pride she felt in it had been replaced by derision towards the offending object. She’d have to do better.
She would do better.
“Let’s get started then,” she said. Hunter nodded, understanding that she wasn’t in the mood to waste time.
After the session, when she got home and studied the small network schematic that Hunter had sketched out while he guided her through everything she could do to improve, she had to admit, his work was just better. Cleaner, more efficient, and it looked like something an expert had designed.
She read over the notes twice, memorizing as much as she could, and then moved onto the next item of her evening.
She called her new business partner.
----------------------------------------
Pipsqueak groaned, the meds insufficient to quell his pain. Jason pursed his lips and considered the state of his most trusted subordinate. Or, more accurately, used to be his most trusted subordinate. The intervening days since his incapacitation had given Jason some time to investigate Pippen's habits when he was sent off his leash.
Jason was not impressed. In fact he was very disappointed.
Pippen had been a bad dog.
But Jason had appearances to keep up. To the world, he was Pippen's best friend, and Pippen his. The Visgolds were quick to jump at the chance to build a bridge to the Chan’s, who had proven quite resourceful in a few significant and influential stages across the world, Barnum only being one of them.
And the Chan’s were only too happy to allow the Visgolds the chance to extend their prestigious olive branch to the Chan’s, who had used it as a more of springboard than a branch. The Locke’s were gated by the Visgolds, a gate that was closed to many but the select few who the Locke family took an interest in.
Funny thing about gates and locks, as far as the Chan family was concerned, they were considered more suggestions than physical— or metaphorical— obstacles. A family like the Locke’s were always interested in expanding their powerbase, and keeping valued subordinate families like the Visgolds in check. To that end they have built a fruitful partnership with the Chans, who have done their utmost to go above and beyond for the Council family.
As far as Jason was concerned, the usefulness of the entire Visgold family had run its course, but his mother had other plans. The time would soon come for the Locke family to demote the Visgolds, who’s role has become nothing more than a glorified guard dog, who soaked up all the power the Locke’s fed them, but didn’t do much in return.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The Visgolds had grown complacent— a complacency which did not compliment their ambition. The Chans had ambition in spades, and were quite willing to do the dirty work which that ambition demanded.
Even if it meant keeping up appearances for just a little while longer. Soon, his hands would be clean of the pipsqueak and his kin, and none too soon. He imagined that his relationship with Pippen was much like the Locke’s relationship with Pippen's family, always cleaning up after the Visgolds enthusiastic service for their masters.
Jason scowled. He’d spent enough time in this hospital room, enough to satisfy social standards. It was time for him to do literally anything else.
His phone rang as he left the room, and he answered it with relish.
“You’ve got Jason. Please tell you’re about to invite me to a party.”
“It’s Aera.”
Jason sighed. There would be no party, but at least there may be some entertainment.
“My dear, its so good to hear your voice. My friend Pippen is still in a very sorry state and my grief can hardly be contained. Please, I beg you, deliver me some balm for my sorrow,” Jason said, straining his voice with dramatic flare.
It might have been a bit too sarcastic, but he was a slight bit beyond the point of caring. If Aera had any evidence linking him to Pippen's attack on her brother, she would have already acted on it.
Which was fine with him. Although he was playing it safe, his mothers plan was already in effect. Soon after Aera had demonstrated her resolve in the ring, Jason had been suddenly inspired with the brilliant idea of bringing her back for a high stakes match against not one, but two opponents. It had been the main event of the evening, with a few warm up fights from some up and coming contestants.
Then, the next week, she not only fought against two people, they were two heavyweight champions. She hadn’t escaped without bruises. It had been thrilling to watch.
And profitable, for both of them.
She was nothing if not confident, and he would milk that for everything he could in the coming weeks, before it was time for the grand finale.
“Let’s do three,” she said— her voice lifeless and deadpan as ever. He wondered if Trey hadn’t had her surgically altered at birth, increasing her AR and intelligence at the cost of a personality. Or maybe they’d made a pact with some ancient demon, who had taken her soul in exchange for power.
He snickered at the thought.
How many of the rich and famous would partake in such a thing if it existed? He wondered how far his mothers ambitions would stretch if she could call in supernatural help at the cost of one of her children?
“Not four?” he asked, with the faintest hope that she’d actually agree. Who knew with her?
She actually took a second to consider.
“Let’s draw out the suspense. I can even make it look like three is a challenge.”
Ah, were she not who she was, and were he not who he was, he might have fallen deeply in love with this girl. As it were, the thought of her made him sick to his stomach and he would like nothing more than to see her smeared across the pavement like an insect.
Alas, patience was a virtue, as they say. Jason wasn’t sure he had patience, but he had something close enough.
Total self interest. There were credits to be made.
“Three it is. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you before the club meeting next week?” he asked, already sure and deeply thankful for the answer.
“If only I had the time, but you know how it is,” she said. Jason nodded.
He did know how it is. There were schemes to scheme. Politics to politick. Excellence to strive for. Not that it would matter, in her case.
“Do let me know if your schedule clears up,” he said, and he wondered if she could feel his smile from the other end of the line. His charm seemed to have quite the lasting and satisfying effect on her.
Satisfying to himself, anyway.
“Of course,” she said, hanging up the phone not a second after the last syllable left her lips.
Jason took a slow, deep breath. The season had transitioned smoothly, and the cold air was sharp in nostrils and his throat.
“Refreshing,” he whispered, as he left in the direction of his home. He had some more calls to make. Aera was not his only prey whose movements he was carefully tracking as they waddled through his web. His ambitions extended far beyond the short role she served in his grand play.
Most spiders would be content to sit, and wait for their prey to come to them. But Jason tended to enjoy the chase. The safer the bugs felt, the more at home, the easier it was for him to gobble them up.
----------------------------------------
Hunter sat cross-legged on his couch, slowly breathing in and out.
He had yet to attain any significant degree of focus for more than a few seconds. At first he thought that maybe his time with Tilda had left a deeper impression then he’d initially thought. Even Aera could tell that he was distracted.
His mind would wander back to their conversations every chance that it could. Nothing he did could seem to stop it. Hunter was starting to wonder if he had a crush.
He’d never had a crush before.
He sighed and opened his eyes, leaning back into his couch and staring at the ceiling.
No, something else was bothering him.
It wasn’t just whatever he was feeling about Tilda, he felt that there was a deeper sense of frustration, something that he couldn’t quite understand. Whatever it was, it was making any attempt to focus into a pointless exercise.
It was like a tension in his gut, and his jaws, and his head.
He felt so tense. Moreso than usual.
He got up and grabbed himself a glass of water. He spent the last hour before bed reviewing his homework. Math, some science, and some brainstorming for a history essay which would be due in a few days. The math was easy, and the science stuff was interesting. Chemistry felt a little bit like artisanship, but without the mystery. He wondered if chemistry was the fate that awaited etherium— once all its mysteries and depths had been thoroughly plotted and a rigorous working theory regarding its nature had been refined over enough generations.
He imagined someone teaching a century from now, looking at a network of glyphs that made up something like the healing bed that Hunter had been so fortunate to enjoy with a look of disinterest. Ah, yes, they’d say, my 5 year old assembled one of those just the other day in his kindergarten class.
Maybe the price of progress was all of one’s efforts being rendered inconsequential before the march of efficiency and convenience. It was the destiny of future children to look back and marvel at how difficult it was for people in Hunters generation to travel from place to place.
In automobiles? And aircraft? You couldn’t just teleport to wherever you wanted to go? You couldn’t directly command the ether to fly you to wherever you wanted to go?
He felt a pang of jealousy for the brats of history’s future.
He finished his homework, and got ready for bed. However, Hunter didn’t feel his sense of frustration dissipate. If anything, laying down to relax only made him feel worse. He felt his limbs shake, as adrenaline started to pump through his body.
Suddenly his chest tightened, and he felt with every fiber of his being that his life was in danger.
He gripped his chest, panting, as his eyes scanned the room. Every shadow was checked once, twice, sometimes three times. He listened intently, for any sign of an intruder. He could neither hear, nor see any sign that anyone was in his room, yet the feeling remained. He got out of bed, but the feeling only intensified. He couldn’t control himself, as he collapsed on the floor beside his bed, feeling the most vulnerable he had ever felt, utterly helpless and exposed to certain death.
He gripped his legs to his chest. No matter how hard and fast he breathed, it was never enough. Tears streamed down his cheeks. What was happening to him?
It took time for him to calm down, but the tension remained. His nerves felt like they were plugged in to an electric outlet.
He realized he wouldn’t be sleeping that night, but it was fine. His mind rebelled at the thought that it was fine, but he reminded himself that his classes were over for the week. He could afford a day without sleep.
It would hardly be his first sleepless night.
And besides, what else was coffee for if not nights like this?
He had a bunch of his fathers journals he could read to pass the time. He also had a bunch of network schematics he was working on in lieu of not having a spot in his apartment where he could actually build them. His fathers notes about his own work outside of the Internal Arts were always fascinating to read. Great insights would be delivered so plainly, which only made sense, given that most of the notes had been recorded for his own personal reference.
It was only the first few Journals that Hunter had read which appeared to be written for another party— namely Hunter, or anyone Hunter decided to share them with. He hadn’t read much beyond those. There was a lot to go through, but try as he might to keep reading, his heart wasn’t in it.
He felt like there was something important he should be doing, something he needed to figure out.
He felt like his apartment was suffocating him, and yet being anywhere else felt worse. Where else would he go?
For a walk?
There were guards out, patrolling the streets and alleyways. If anything happened, he could just call for help.
But what if they didn’t make it in time?
Was he really afraid of getting attacked again? The idea rang true.
Why now? Despite the anger and pain from the attack, Hunter had felt fine. He’d felt fine after the attack at the museum as well, the most significant emotional change he could point to was a a stronger drive to focus on his work and his future.
Hunter groaned. He’d had to deal with one obstacle after another, life always seemed to have some brand new way of toying with him.
He’d gone his whole life without significant anxiety. Seckina had been stressful, but this was different. He’d never felt so helpless, before. The fear had never been so intense and paralyzing.
What was he supposed to do?
He had no interest in doing anything, and was too high-strung to fall asleep.
So he closed his eyes, and started breathing.
Focus came surprisingly fast. Maybe the panic attack had burned through some energy. Like storm clearing the air of pollutants.
And then he went deeper. And deeper. And then he felt it again.
His life was in danger. Hunter gasped for air and the focus dissipated, he clutched his chest and heaved. The panic didn’t last as long as last time, but it had felt so much more real, if that was even possible.
What the hell was this emotion doing inside of him? Had it been there all along?
Did the process of focusing and relaxing expose it?
He opened his fathers first journal, and flipped through it a few times to find the portion where he talks about the methods of developing the Internal Arts. He skimmed to the part where his father introduces the focusing exercises.
There it was, he’d dismissed it before, having been totally unaware of any deeper meaning the words might have held, but now it was plain to see.
A note of caution, these practices can and will expose things about yourself that you may not have been aware of; certain opinions, perceptions, and emotions that you are not yet conscious of or have pushed below the surface. I wish there were an easy way to defuse these things, but their appearance can be quite jarring, and in my experience the best way to deal with them is deeper exposure. Try not to resist, just relax and feel your way through them.
Hunter felt exasperated. There was no way he’d be able to sit through that kind of experience again. Nothing he’d ever felt had come close to it. It was so raw, so loud.
Can I afford to avoid it? He asked himself.
The answer was clear.
No. He had to face it. But who in their right mind would want to face that, willingly?
A strong, stubborn urge rose up in his chest. Stronger than he’d ever felt it before.
Fuck it. He was going to conquer this thing.