A small smile and gentle claps echo through the library as the librarian regards Tantra.

“You made it, girl. Congratulations, you can officially call yourself a proper cultivator.” He says, “I’m almost surprised you’ve made it this far, I’ll be honest, and you’ll have to forgive an old man for feeling a bit of sentimental pride for the fact that you did.”

Tantra smiles wide at the reason she’s advanced so quickly, puts down her books, and gives the man a deep bow.

“A thousand gratitudes master!” She says “I owe all my progress to your wisdom and dutiful guidance.”

The librarian snorts, “let’s not get too ahead of ourselves girl, this is only the beginning of a long journey, and we have yet to see if you can tread it”

Tantra just gets up from her bow with an exuberant smile that causes the old man to chuckle.

“Now, I assume you are leaving?” He tilts his head to the books.

“Yes master,” she says, “I have not seen my family in little over a year, and the heart yearns for their company once more. I will be back, this I promise you, It shouldn’t take more than a few years before we meet again”

The librarian waves her off, “journeys can get surprisingly long, girl, especially with the amount of detours you plan on taking before heading home.”

Tantra gives him a shocked look, “how did you know?”

“I have my ways,” He shrugs, “now lets see here…”

He goes over the books one by one, making sure that the names match with the records as he crosses them off and places them into specific boxes for when he is to return them to their proper locations.

“Good,” he says, “that should be everything.”

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“There are still two left,” she points at the advanced control manual and the blood infusion technique.

“Those are yours girl,” he says with a raised brow, “have been since they touched your fingers.”

Tantra gives him a confused look, “but what about the sect’s secrets?”

The man shrugs, “I doubt the infusion technique is much of a secret if it found its way into our hands, the measures we take are more so disciples who aren’t ready for such techniques rather than hiding it from our rivals. All the real secrets are up on the mountain, for the inner disciples to use at their leisure.”

She looks at books and takes them back into her arms, holding them close to her chest, she bows deep again, much to the amusement of the librarian, and heads home to pack.

-

There isn’t really that much to pack, all she has are robes, her token, and a very slowly regenerating Qi stone. She wonders how she’s going to prove her identity when she gets home? They aren’t going to exactly let her in just because she claims to be of the Sol bloodline. Then again, Rakan might be able to grant them an audience, at which point she can give one of her siblings a pleasant surprise. She chuckles at the thought as she nears the sect's edge, where Jorin is waiting with arms crossed.

“You are early,” He notes.

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“So are you master,” she bows.

He grunts, “It’s easy to be early when you don’t have to sleep.”

Tantra nods, she’s started to notice that. She can’t really measure time, she doesn’t have a sundial, but it feels as though the amount she spends sleeping has lessened. Not at an alarming rate, just enough where the sun is peeking over the horizon rather than being level with it.

“Know that I do not approve of this, if you were going on your own, that would be one matter, but you risk your fellows by allowing them to join you on this journey.” he says.

Tantra bows again, “apologies master, but is it not the cultivators way to do as one wills? Who am I to stop them from joining me when that is their heartfelt desire?”

“You are a girl who should know better,” he replies, “the world isn’t as kind as our sect, even with the bandit raids, you risk them all for the sake of friendship. Know that when they die, it will be your burden to carry, and if they survive, it will be their triumph to hold.”

Tantra looks down, “we’ll be fine, we have Rakan.”

Jorin lets out a heavy sigh, “you are willingly making yourself a fool disciple Tantra, I hope it’ll be worth it in the end.”

-

All of them walk down a dirt path filled with brambles and thistles, new robes scraping against the receiving and reweaving the small gashes that are made. Jorin presented them with proper cultivators robes with array script woven into its interior, providing all the conveniences one might expect from clothing that will suffer battle and travel. They had all, in their excitement, found a tree to hide behind as they changed, much to Rakans amusement and Jorin’s chagrin.

“I didn’t know clothing could get so soft,” Yorin marvels, “what did they make this with.”

Tantra shrugs, “most robes of this kind are made with linen, I’m honestly surprised the sect was willing to part with them.”

“It’s tradition,” Rakan says, “all disciples get one for their first journey, as a gesture of good faith and an advertisement all at once.”

Tantra tilts her head, “when you put it that way it makes some kind of sense, the only problem is this sect can only be reached with the aid of a cultivator, so popularity will mean little for their recruitment ratios.”

“It’s not about recruitment.” Etra scoffs, “It’s about recognition! Someone will see our robes and tokens, and measure our sect by how much shit we can kill for them.”

“It is not always killing.” Kisrin points out.

Etra rolls her eyes, “what else would it be? It’s literally our profession.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Tantra interrupts, “we could choose to be something else while we cultivate.”

Etra raises a brow, “and how pray tell, would we find the time to advance if we were to do that.”

“My life spans already double what it normally would be,” Tantra points out, “the path can give us as much time as it takes.”

“That’s assuming anyone would hire you, girl.” Rakan says, “all the common folk are too afraid to take a cultivator under their wing. Even in foundation you could easily kill a mortal, and depending on where you live and who you killed, the law won’t care much. No one is willing to risk that for the years an apprenticeship takes.”

Etra just points to the man as though he’s made a wonderful point.

Tantra pouts, “surely not all of them are cowards.”

“It is not cowardice,” Rakan says, “It’s good survival instincts”

-

A boar with serrated tusks and a mouth full of spittle charges at Tantra, she sidesteps the charge and swings her club at it, striking its side. The boar squeals as it swipes at her and manages a small but on her leg. Tantra grunts, takes a step back, then boosts her arms as she brings down the club like an omen of death. Brain matter and blood go flying as the boar's skull is fully caved in. It takes a step forward as though not aware of it’s death, then collapses to the ground.

Tantra lets out a breath and shakes her exhausted arms, a little too much.

“And theirs breakfast,” Rakan claps, “congratulations kid, couldn’t have done it sloppier myself.”

Tantra shakes off brain matter stuck to her club, “I killed it, we have food, does the performance really matter?”

“Of course it does!” Yorin exclaims, “aren’t you the one who's always talking about maintaining an image? Cultivators have to look cool!”

Etra shrugs, “crushing that thing's skull was pretty cool.”

“Thank you”

“If only that was the first thing you did.”

“I didn’t want to waste Qi!”

“Don’t worry Tantra,” Kisrin says, “your execution of that innocent swine was most brutal and most impressive.”

Rakan snorts, “‘impressive’ sure.”

Tantra mutters her grievances at the collection of fools.