4th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

Newt stopped before a light-brown wooden door. A black tag with white letters hung at eye level, saying, ‘Joyguard’.

Did he change his name after taking up this position, or is it a coincidence?

Popular superstition stated that name was the omen of one’s future. Victor won against Newt’s father, Newt was a new star, Dandelion was a drifter, Dolorna was depressed.

Pointless thoughts, and why did a random clerk of all people spring to mind? Newt knocked on the door, refusing to think about old wives’ tales.

“Enter, please.” The voice that came from the other side of the door was neutral, average, and absolutely forgettable.

Newt entered the room, immediately examining the interior and the soother.

The man sat behind a desk, his beard was short, pointy, and black, his eyes sharp, but his features plain and unremarkable. Newt guessed he was around forty years old, the concentration of spiritual energy flowing through his body more or less identical to the environment’s.

Other than Joyguard, his desk, and unusually tall armchair, the room had potted plants, paintings of landscapes, and a large, wave-shaped bed at the center of the room. The air smelled of fresh herbs, predominated by the mixed aroma of rosemary and lavender.

“Greetings, Lord Cultivator.” Joyguard rose from his seat and offered a respectful half-bow, which Newt returned.

“Good day,” How do I address him? “Sir Joyguard. I was told you were one of the Explorer’s Gate’s best soothers.”

“Considering we only have five soothers, one might say we are all one of the best.” The man’s smile did not falter as he gestured towards the unusual bed. “Please, lie down and tell me what is bothering you.”

Newt made himself comfortable on the bed and found it even cozier than the one in his bedroom. Where do I even begin?

“You seem confused. This must be your first time visiting a soother. You may start at the beginning, whatever that entails for you; your earliest memories, childhood, stepping into adulthood, or when the problem actually manifested itself. I don’t know the answers, and the only thing I can offer is helping you find the truth.”

Newt remained silent. Where does the seed of my heart demon lie? With being a spoiled brat, abusing my birthright, hardly paying attention to others teaching me? That’s not it.

A moment later, Newt found it.

“A bit over four years ago, I was playing in the inner courtyard, back at the clan. My uncle came, all smiles, like usual, but when he approached me, he grabbed me by the throat.” Newt had not thought of that day for a while, but the memory of fingers digging into his neck was so fresh he choked.

Does something in this room help evoke memories? A spell formation? The scent?

He scanned the room, but found no strange energy patterns, and kept talking.

“He brought me to my father’s audience chamber and blackmailed him. It was obvious Uncle came prepared, he brought a soul-binding contract, and said he would kill me if my father didn’t sign it.” Newt recalled the bartering, and his father’s threats, but ultimately, the man had signed the contract and sold himself and his wife to slavery to save Newt’s life.

“So my father signed, sentencing himself and my mother, and now I have to find them. I have made an arrangement with a senior much stronger and more influential than myself, but I still suffer from a heart demon…”

As Newt’s words faded and came to a stop, the soother spoke.

“And you believe not finding them immediately is your fault? Do you believe this to be true? To be rational?” Joyguard spoke slowly, building his sentences one word at a time, as if letting Newt consider what he was saying as he said it.

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“I don’t know if it’s true,” Newt admitted, “but I do know it’s irrational. If a senior at the sixth realm cannot find that information, what chance do I have?”

Joyguard nodded. “If a team of spirit beast triceratops pulls a loaded cart, yet cannot even shake it, do you think the common mortal, driving the team, should pull along to help them? How much would he help? Is his helpless inaction a sign of unwillingness to complete his task?”

Newt waited for an answer, but unlike his master’s rhetorical questions, Joyguard said nothing else and simply gazed at Newt, wanting to hear his thoughts.

“There’s no telling whether a mortal’s strength would be the straw that broke the stego’s back, but it’s highly unlikely. I understand what you’re saying. Rationally, the odds of my full commitment on this quest has almost zero chance of influencing Elder Frostgrave’s effort, let alone outperforming it.” Newt paused, already aware of the truth of the problem. He had considered it dozens of times.

“But a tiny fraction of me believes that by not risking my life, by not giving up on my freedom and future, I’m being unfilial, treacherous even. It’s insane, but that small piece of me is the source of my heart demon.”

Joyguard nodded, still gazing at Newt without judgment, waiting for him to finish.

“Is there something I’m missing?” Newt asked, but Joyguard just shook his head.

“You are aware of your heart demon’s source and the fact that it is an irrational thought. As for any hidden details and untold truths, only you can be aware of those. It is best if you discover them through introspection. Who knows, maybe some missing truth or memory can clear the demon.”

Joyguard paused, staring into the distance before focusing back on Newt.

“If I were you, I would meditate on the incident in which you and your parents got separated. It’s clear regret still lingers in your heart. It is not impossible that what you believe is a heart demon stemming from not actively searching for your parents is, in reality, a mirror of your regret over how they were taken from you in the first place.”

Joyguard steepled his fingers and leaned back.

“It is not unheard of for the victim of a crime to feel guilty. In fact, it happens often enough. Someone who had their purse cut will often think something akin to, ‘I should’ve minded it better.’ Those who were robbed often lament their own weakness, instead of the fact that the authorities failed to capture the perpetrator, or the state of the world in which brigands exist in the first place.”

Newt sat in silence, staring at the whitewashed ceiling.

There is probably some truth in his words. Now that I think about it, I recall spending days in the mine’s gloom, thinking our separation is my fault. Karma for the way I behaved, my inability to resist Uncle…

It is strange that something that left that deep of a scar didn’t become a heart demon.

“Thank you, I will consider your words in great detail.” Newt stood and gave the mortal man a half-bow.

“You are welcome, Lord Cultivator.” Joyguard rose and mirrored Newt’s bow, much too shallow for one a mortal should offer a cultivator, but Newt did not mind.

“I would be grateful for advice about another problem,” Newt said, and Joyguard motioned him to go back to the bed. Newt settled into a comfortable position and continued talking. “My three new team members have lost a dear friend on the mission, and now I’m there to take the dead man’s spot.”

Joyguard nodded, his expression still neutral.

“One of them is trying to move on, but the other two cannot cope with their grief and regret. How do I help them, get them out of their rooms? Do you have any advice for me?”

Joyguard looked at the ceiling again, tapping on his notebook with the charcoal stick.

“Reasoning with those who have abandoned reason is like administering medicine to the dead. You are a stranger, a new person in their lives. Forcing them to leave their room or abandon any coping mechanisms they are employing will probably have adverse effects. That said, unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways, usually as heart demons. Provoking your team mates might help.”

“Provoking them?” Newt gave Joyguard a dubious look.

“Provoke them into action. Don’t insult them or worse hit them. Make them take actions which will break up their daily rut. If I were you, I would either make my involvement subtle, or I would make the incident appear beyond my control.”

Newt considered the proposal. Obsidian had almost certainly tried to get his sister out in a variety of ways.

Had he? Newt wondered. If it were him, he would have tried, but that did not mean Obsidian thought the same.

We need to talk soon. The sands of our three month grace period are already trickling down.

“Thank you, Sir, you have given me a lot to think about.” Newt stood up, then decided to ask a tactless question. “How often do disciples and elders come to talk with soothers? There should be a lot of people in the sect, yet I managed to meet you on the same day I made the request.”

Joyguard held Newt’s gaze, obviously thinking of a diplomatic answer.

“Less often than they should, and those who need to talk to us the most, often don’t come at all.”

Newt looked at the man for one more moment.

Maybe he wasn’t going for a diplomatic answer, but for one free of insults?