It takes a few days, Tuesday specifically, for Karaz’s death to really sink in. Nothing special was really going on, this was just the day that Karaz trained her, for that chess match she won oh so long ago. It’s funny, she still isn’t even well enough to train, weeks after the attack, and yet the errant thought still enters her mind. How she should go knock on Karaz’s door. She almost walks over and does it too, then she remembers.
Oh, she thinks, Karaz is dead.
The thought stops her short, standing in the hall, just a few steps away from her door, where she’d always answer at this time because all the friends she had could be found in this building.
Damn, she thinks, being a beast-blood must have been rough.
Then she puffs out a chuckle, that’s what comes to mind right now? Her chuckle turns to a laugh, which turns to hysteria until eventually making its last stop to tears. The others are home, surely they can hear her sobbing in the hall? Then again, would she really want to be seen like this?
No, no she wouldn’t.
Why is she crying? She didn’t even know Karaz for that long, didn’t even know her story. They were just housemates who ribbed at each other every now and then. Tantra never would have expected her death to impact her so.
Then again, she never expected her to die.
Tantra crouches down to the floor, hugs her knees, and continues her crying.
-
“Look!” Yorin says gleefully as he shows off his new scars, one is on the edge of his lip, where a blade split his cheek in two. Another runs along his chest diagonally, a fresh pink. There are others, along his arms and legs, but those are shallow cuts, apparently making them not worth showing off. “Don’t they look so cook?”
Tantra chuckles, “I’m just glad you’re alive, disciple Yorin.”
Yorin frowns, “come on, not even a little excited, I know you’ve got scars too. Don’t tell me you don’t care about such an essential part of the journey.”
Tantra hums, “I find them quite ugly, if I were being honest.”
Yorin gaps at her, scandalized, his mouth does a mighty good impression of a fish as he tries and fails to respond to her statement.
“Nonsense, honourable Tantra,” Kisrin starts, “I’m sure the scars will only serve to compliment your looks.”
Tantra looks at him and raises a brow, “are you courting me, disciple Kisrin?”
The boy blushes hard and stutters, causing Tantra to laugh with a soft melody. Kisrin looks down as heat reaches his ears.
“I’m only teasing, disciple Kisrin,” she pats him on the back, “I know you don’t see me in that fashion.”
Yorin rolls his eyes, “oblivious idiot,” he mutters under his breath as Kisrin gathers himself.
“Of course honourable Tantra, of course” he says.
Tantra smiles softly, at least they are alive.
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-
One swing, two swings, three swings, four.
Sweat runs down her brow as she practices, she doesn’t stop, she can’t stop. She is no stranger to death, there was Ratham before Karaz, died to the venom of a pinewood viper. That hurt, that hurt a lot, but not like this. Ranya has known Karaz for years, knows her strength, knows her ferocity. She is young but she is no fool, to walk the path is to court death, for any and all.
The only reason she’s even a cultivator is because of her little friend.
Pretty crappy friend all things considered, since it feeds like a parasite on her soul.
Karaz had made her promise that she would never give up on herself, that she would always fight the fate life has given her. It was difficult at the time, to keep on fighting after a loss so fresh, but Karaz wouldn’t take no for an answer.
She’s debating on whether she should break that promise now that she is gone.
No, that would be disrespectful to her memory.
But she can’t keep moping, can’t keep going with sadness and gloom. So she chooses anger instead, it’s pretty easy, considering she has a convenient target for her rage. She doesn’t know which clan attacked their home, but she will eventually, if she doesn’t stop looking.
The ban can’t last forever, and then it will be time.
-
Watching people has become a habit of hers, ever since she learned how to bend light to make her invisible. She picks a bench or stump to sit on and just observes the comings and goings of her fellow disciples, after all, what's an invasion of privacy between sect siblings? Besides the constant pain and drain of Qi, it gives her something to focus on. Something other than that ugly emotion called resentment.
She knows, intellectually, that it wasn’t the new girls fault. She couldn’t have known after all, and it wasn’t her choice to begin with. Some dumbass of a parent decided it would be a good idea to throw her to the wolves, hoping to catch some pelts. The thought tempers her more emotional side, but not enough to where she doesn’t risk saying something hurtful, and she doesn’t want to be like that.
Doesn’t want to be someone that brings pain.
The world spreads enough of that as it is without her contribution.
So she avoids the girl entirely and keeps herself busy by furthering her cultivation. From what she understands, she is the youngest of the sect to have touched the dao, before she even completed her foundations. The dao of light is an esoteric thing, a lot of it is just the radiation of heat, but that application is too expensive for her body to take right now. Instead she bends it like a band, enhancing her stealth tenfold by removing one of the primary methods of detecting her; it requires a lot more finesse, but the results are worth it. Then again it kind of becomes useless once a cultivator starts to enhance their Qi senses, then her technique would be a beacon rather than a cloak.
She’s learned how to hide her body, now she needs to learn how to hide her Qi.
Shouldn’t be too hard, she’s just never heard of that kind of technique, but just about anything can be done with Qi, so she doubts it’s an impossibility.
-
MOTION, it looks on at the world as things move and squirm, both small and big, fighting to survive and thrive. It watches a jaguar of red pounce on a goblin, tearing the creature apart and feasting on the flesh of its bones. It watches as so many people gather together for the collective purpose of killing one another, charging from the field into the hands of death. It watches as souls are harvested and returned, only to find new bodies to live and die in.
VIBRATION, it listens as the world screams its melody of beautiful agony. It listens to a mother weeping at the death of their child, at a father who screams out accusations to the heavens. It listens as a new heart begins to beat within the womb of a concubine, as she is blissfully unaware of the new and wonderful soul she carries. It listens to the howls of the wolves at the rise of the moon, a pack separate yet together. It listens to the prayer of a child, hoping to one day be wise like their father and strong like their mother. It listens to the cries of bloody murder as a woman is sent to the gallows.
CHEMISTRY, it tastes the decadence of a rich man, slowly being fed his grapes. Tastes the gruel fed to prisoners, and the meat torn off a fresh kill. It smells the rot and decay of a corpse forgotten to the woods. Smells the alcohol on a man's breath as he tries to forget the horrors of the past. It smells the debauchery of the red light district, and the fear that wafts of a woman as she cowers in front of a being beyond her ken.
SENSATION, It feels the lovers touch, as two desperate souls engage in a moment of bliss before having to face the horrors of the world. It feels the touch of the blade pierce through the stomach of a child. It feels the tears running down a man's face as he witnesses all that he has built crumble to dust. It feels the sharp pain of knuckles as a mother lays hands on her own blood. It feels the fur of a majestic beast, standing tall above the mountains with the dominance of something that cannot be challenged.
IT KNOWS THAT THE WORLD IS CRUEL, AND IT DOES NOT CARE.