Around them, Pallas and Soleiman saw as the fallen leaves and twigs that lay strewn across the dirt took flight and spiralled around them. Though they themselves felt no wind, they heard clearly the undeniable whirr of air rushing by. A click could be heard from the other side of the door, and before they knew it, the monolithic gate before them swung away from them to reveal the luscious garden within.

A singular stone path cut straight through the verdant grasses and pits of combed sand, leading directly to a lifted platform that served as the bottom floor of the greater structure. The path was entirely devoid of people though, and upon further inspection, the two of them failed to see anyone in the immediate vicinity of the door.

Across the garden stood a few stout umbrella trees, each of them overlooking circular stone tables surrounded by similarly hard-looking seats. At one of the tables, they could make out a sleeping Chitite girl, her fluffy feline ears and unkempt bun shining an iridescent bright white against the dull grey of the stone table she rested her head on. At another table sat an elderly woman of the same race, her ears and hair a much duller grey- left withered, worn and weary by age. Unlike the younger girl, she sat upright, a small book clutched in one of her hands while the other was held frozen in an open-palmed gesture.

And her eyes were fixed on the two of them.

She beckoned for them to come, setting her hand down after that.

Obliging, Soleiman led the way as the two of them made their way to the elderly lady, the massive door closing behind with another blow of the wind.

As the two of them drew near, they just barely managed to see that the petite title of the petite book had been written in a foreign script not entirely alien to them. The closest thing they remembered that could be compared to it were the characters their mother wrote her name on her belongings with. Though, even then, they appeared to be more complex, each character constructed of a great density of lines neatly laid over each other and assembled into meaningful scripture- a meaning that eluded them.

They soon arrived at the table, the partial shade of the umbrella tree that stretched its canopy out above them providing a welcome relief to the mid-morning sky.

“Welcome… Minervans,” the lady said gratingly slowly, bowing slightly to the two of them.

Rather hastily, they bowed in return, though their form was stiff and unnatural, partly due to the backpacks that weighed down on their shoulders, partly due to their inexperience with the practice.

“What brings you to the Feishuan Dojo?”

“Right, uhm. We’ve come in search of a girl by the name of Qingxi?”

“Ah… that one.” The lady nodded in understanding, a weak smile stretching across her face. She turned slowly, gesturing to the only other person in the garden- fast asleep with her face buried amongst her forearms. “She has been waiting for you.”

The two of them turned to face Qingxi. “Oh, well, thank you-”

“Please, take care of her,” the old lady said.

“We will.”

“Good then. Just as she will take care of you,” the old lady said. “Go.”

The two of them shuffled away, bowing to the lady awkwardly as she got back to perusing her quaint little book. They walked over the grass, crossing the stone path and across the grass again, the sound of their footsteps changing as they made their way across the carefully sculpted tapestry of the garden floor.

When they got to where the girl slept, they saw she’d set down on the ground beside her an intricately fashioned but worn-out rucksack, packed modestly full. It stood at about half the size of their bags, and the only thing that gave away a sense of having-too-much-to-carry were the little forearm plates they recognised as part of their matching anonymity-protecting armour sets that stuck out. On her hip, a sheathed blade, apparently tied shut by a band of leather that wrapped around its hilt and wristguard. The three tiny blue bands tied to its hilt glowing softly.

Pallas and Soleiman looked silently at each other, each expectantly waiting for the other to make the first move. Or rather, hoping the other would be the one to wake her up.

Soleiman lifted his arms up, palms facing out as he backed away slightly. He whispered, saying, “Hey, I already talked to the old lady first!”

“Thought you said you wanted to make a good first impression?” Pallas whispered back.

“Yeah, but, I didn’t think I’d have to wake her up!”

Pallas sighed slightly, turning back to wake the girl up. Though, to both of their horrors, she had already stirred from her slumber. Slowly, she rose, wiping her groggy face against the sleeves of her shirt. The two of them stepped back, taking care to make sure she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable at the sight of two people staring her down point blank while she woke.

Rather awkwardly, the two of them shifted about, Soleiman being unsure of where to put his hands and having them move uncomfortably from crossed to at ease and Pallas running her fingers through her hair to make sure no rogue strands stuck to her face.

The Chitite girl slowly opened her eyes, her pupils centering on the two of them. She began the process of slowly closing her eyes again before stopping herself midway, an expression of shock spiked with embarrassment and horror splattered across her face. She leapt off her seat, facing the two of them as she bowed deeply and suddenly- they were almost concerned she’d headbutt the table made from pure boulder between them.

“Hello!”

“H-”

“I’m Qingxi, and it's a pleasure to meet you,” She remained fixed in her bow, her spotty soft Minervic heavily accented by hard Sinitic.

The two of them returned the bow, though they could barely even make it half as far down as Qingxi.

“Nice-”

“I hope we work together well.”

Qingxi remained frozen in bow, her fluffy ears twitching erratically as she kept her face concealed.

The two of them remained silent for a moment, giving her time to add on any other things she’d like to say.

“Nice to meet you, Qingxi,” Soleiman said, putting a hand on Pallas’ shoulder as they rose from their bows. “I’m Pallas-”

…

“Wait, no, I’m-”

“I’m Pallas.” She said, leaning forward with a stymied smile on her face. She put a hand out to shake Qingxi’s, who in return grabbed it with some hesitance.

Qingxi did a mini-bow, smiling slightly at the amusement of Soleiman’s horror being contrasted with Pallas’ poorly veiled glee.

“Nice to meet you too.”

She then turned to face Soleiman, who very visibly still hadn’t recovered from the utter embarrassment of an introduction he’d made.

“Your name is?”

She reached out a hand gently, though a little bit too low for Soleiman to shake without having to shift forward.

Soleiman cleared his throat.

“Soleiman. Nice to meet you, Qingxi.” Nevertheless, he shook her hand. “You’re the one working for Miss Rei, right? Michitama Rei, specifically.”

Qingxi nodded eagerly. “Yes, I was sent here to help Miss Rei’s underlings.” The warmth from her face vanishing momentarily, she leaned forward slightly and droned on monotonously, saying, “Which would be you, right?”

“Yes, we are! That- that is indeed us,” Soleiman looked uncomfortably at Pallas, matching her gaze.

“Okay.”

The one-word response admittedly did little to salvage the dying conversation. It was like throwing a buoy to save someone drowning, if by buoy I meant a 95 kilogramme cast iron anvil.

…

They were also still shaking hands.

“So, uhm,” Soleiman said, disengaging the handshake. “How about we introduce ourselves first?”

Pallas nodded in approval, and the two of them began setting their backpacks down onto the stone stools.

“No.”

Pallas and Soleiman froze in action.

“I mean,” Qingxi said, brow furrowing as she corrected herself. “Could we talk somewhere else?”

“Oh, yeah sure, we can do that.”

They picked their bags up.

“You hungry?” Pallas asked Qingxi, to which she nodded silently in response.

“I haven’t had anything since yesterday night.”

“Hm. Neither have we.”

“Oh! There were some good soup stalls not too far from here in the outer city. You alright with that?” Soleiman suggested.

“Okay. I haven’t had time to try any of the local dishes here.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Really? When did you get here?” he asked.

“...About last night.”

When they got to the locked gate, Pallas manually flipped over the locking mechanism, fitting the tips of her fingers into a slight gap between each door.

“Let me-”

She heaved the doors open, prying them apart.

Qingxi stood in slight disbelief for a moment, brows raised in stunned silence before she swiftly came to terms with reality.

“It’s okay,” Pallas said. “I’ve got it. You said you just came last night?”

“...Yes. I was lucky the ship that brought me here came before you guys did.”

The three of them made their way through the door, with Soleiman waving back at the elderly woman as they exited the dojo grounds and felt the heavy thud of the gate closing behind them once again.

“At least you got here safely.”

“Mmh.”

“How’d you end up under Miss Rei, if you don’t mind us asking?” Soleiman said.

The stone tapped again under their feet, a familiar sound. They made their way back the way they came, the streets now significantly livelier. Instead of being dotted with the occasional businessman rushing to get to his client, the street had been very generously populated with all sorts of people- though all of them were nevertheless very well dressed. Folks going about their daily errands, securing deals, meeting up with fellow guildsmen and attending courses held at the local university.

Compared to the outer city streets, however, the noise level was still far more subdued. By the looks of things, the mercantile atmosphere had been moved indoors- purchases and deals and bargains were now all held within the confines of quaint little stores.

“My…” Qingxi’s expression fell slightly. “I was sent here to complete my… training. And since Miss Rei Yuuko needed a helper from Xiafa, my father decided to sign me up.”

“Oh, I see. He didn’t give you a heads up at the very least?” he asked.

“No.” Qingxi’s face grew increasingly grim. “He didn’t.”

“...Alright, I won’t prod anymore. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Qingxi said, her face softening as she seemingly hoisted herself out of the recesses of her memories. She turned to look Soleiman in the eyes, saying, “You two are good people. We’re going to be allies, so I think it’s important we know each other well.”

“Right.” Still though, even after the reassurance, they felt no appetite to unearth unwelcome memories. They figured she’d tell them at her own time, when she felt she was ready.

When they arrived at the gates of the Xoplikos estate once again, they noticed quite a commotion building up around where the guards would’ve been standing. There, a small crowd had coalesced, clogging the street intersection and drawing in more curious and confused onlookers by the minute.

As they drew closer, the gargled murmur of the crowd grew more oppressive, though it became easier to pick up individual loud voices. And amongst the masses, they could pick out vestiges of a conversation from deeper within the crowd.

“Sire, calm down-”

“You knocked him out you goon! How about you calm my fist down!” The man’s words almost reeked of alcohol.

Pallas and Soleiman recognised the first voice- it was that of the guard that admitted Pontificus entry into the estate.

Pallas looked back at Soleiman, and the both of them understood what they were to do. In near perfect coordination, the two of them dropped their bags, Soleiman jumping onto Pallas’ back the next instant. Pallas braced herself, holding his ankles and hoisting him well over the height of even the tallest onlooker.

“Impressive,” Qingxi said.

“What do you see?”

Soleiman squinted his eyes, craning his neck forward to get a better grasp of the situation. The crowd had formed a perimeter around four men, two of which were the estate guards they’d met earlier. The other two were donned in the infamous purple attire of the Gravitas Flotilla, their naval uniforms a combination of dull greys and browns contrasting against vibrant violet bands that decorated both the cloaks that draped to their knees and the hats that sat arrogantly on their heads.

Though, their uniforms did seem a little bit out of wear- splotches of dark bourbon reds and offensive poo browns tainted the whites and purples of their clothing, some of the seams in their cloaks had come partially undone and even their hats appeared somewhat out of shape and deformed.

“Uhm… well, there’s two Gravitas sailors and they’re fighting with the estate guards we met earlier…”

Soleiman squinted a little harder.

“One of them’s been knocked out- the sailors, I mean. And… I think the other one’s not too happy about that…”

“What’re they arguing over?”

“Uh… I can’t really tell, probably about the fact one of the sailors is on the ground?”

Behind them, Qingxi put her hands behind her human ears, cupping them to form two larger makeshift ones. Her feline ears twitched in turn, adjusting minutely and focusing on the source of the argument. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to put more of her focus and cognition into parsing the noises she could pick up.

“The Gravitas Sailor is saying that he has to go into the Estate.”

Soleiman and Pallas looked back at Qingxi.

“His Officer has come to… uh, for… in-heri-tans taxes?” Qingxi sounded unsure, struggling slightly on the unfamiliar word.

“Ooh, inheritance tax,” Soleiman said, hopping off of Pallas’ back. “It’s the tax people have to pay when someone in their family dies and gives them their stuff.”

“Ah, ok. We don’t have that in Xiafa.”

“Nothing to do with us, then?” Pallas said, hoisting her bag back onto her shoulders, inciting Soleiman to do the same.

“More or less, yeah. Hope Pontificus gets his share, though.”

“Mm,” Pallas nodded in acknowledgement. “Let’s get out of here. Those sailors always put me off, one way or the other.”

The three of them continued onwards, squeezing their way through cracks in the crowd, seeping their way through the gathering of people until they finally emerged out the other end. Pallas came out first, turning around and waiting for the other two to slowly make their way out before continuing down the street leading to the outer city.

As they made their way down the street, they kept an eye on their surroundings, scanning the myriad of stores and shops for a diner that had caught their eye earlier. In the background, they heard the murmur of passersby, deep in discussion with each other regarding matters of trade. Some were complaining about the overabundance of local Thosmodean bills, others were talking about how taxes had been raised too high. Others still lamented Lord Gravitas’ recent policy changes, talking about how difficult trade would become once the census-lockdown came into effect. Some of them even mused about leaving the city altogether, if at all possible.

Pallas steeled herself, though she winced slightly at the mention of the census-lockdown. Never before had she so closely correlated a word with the complete derailment of her and her mother’s mission. In the end, though, she admitted it felt wholly inevitable. Lord Gravitas would have his way in stomping her efforts out of his demesne, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be able to flee and come back stronger.

She just had to trust the process. Yes, that was all she had to do.

“Pallas, Soleiman.”

The two of them broke from their environmental immersion, turning to respond to Qingxi’s inquiry.

“Hm?” they hummed in unison.

“What about you two? How did you meet Miss Rei?”

Pallas gestured for Soleiman to go first.

Soleiman paused for a moment, taking a while to gather his thoughts.

“It’s been quite some time, about a decade since she found me. Back then, I was living in an orphanage somewhere south of here- down in Amocolis.”

Qingxi nodded along, paying close attention while the other two continued to keep a lookout on their surroundings. Eyes jumping from stall to stall, they even spotted a tailor shop with a few wooden mannequins placed next to the windows that proudly wore the Gravitas Attire.

“There, I used to spend so much time reading that so the other kids liked to call me ‘The Librarian’,” Soleiman smiled a little, his gaze disappearing off into the distance before he brought himself back to reality. “I wonder where the rest of them went,” he mused to himself.

“You don’t know what happened to them?”

“Well, not exactly. Miss Rei- or Mom as we call her,” he gestured to include Pallas. “Told me she sent the others off to her allies after she took me in, and we never really caught much wind of them ever again.”

Qingxi looked mildly surprised at that statement.

“Oh, I hope they’re doing okay.”

“...Me too.”

Off in the distance, Pallas spotted a large sign that stuck out of the facade of the buildings that lined the narrowing street, emblazoned with the familiar name of ‘Big Man Diner’. She pointed it out to the other two, reckoning they were not too long from finally having a solid breakfast. It even expressly mentioned that they served durians. Perfect!

“Do… you know why she chose only you?”

“Hm? Oh-” Soleiman was a little shaken by her question, as his mind had already drifted to thoughts of vegetable soup, sourdough and mozzarella cheese, leaving the pensive recollection of his past behind.

“It probably has something to do with the fact that she sort of… quizzed me? I remember her coming up to me a few days after she first met with the kind ladies in charge, asking me to play a game of pretend war with her.”

On that day, Rei took the seven-year old Soleiman into one of the private rooms the caregivers had for themselves. On the floor lay a giant mat- no, it was more akin to a map, very simplistically detailed with rivers, roads, cities, forests, hills, all the geographic information that an aspiring leader would need to formulate a battleplan. To Soleiman, it was like nothing he’d ever seen, as up until then the only maps he’d had access to were small pictures that occasionally popped up in the books he read. Those maps were far too small and far too vague and shoddy for him to do much aside from wistful daydreaming with. But this was different.

It was then that Rei gave him a few beautifully crafted wooden figurines carved into the shapes of horses, men and one or two cannons, and invited him to a game of war.

“I didn’t think too much about it at first, but I remember being really happy about it. I mean- I had never seen anything like the things she gave me to play with. And because the map we had was big enough for us to put our little soldiers on, I could actually play out my daydreams for the first time.” Soleiman’s gestures and hand movements grew more active, as though he was actively reliving the moment as he relayed his memories to her.

“I ended up losing, sure, but it was the most fun I had in a while. And I got adopted!”

“So she took you in because you were smart?”

“Well,” Soleiman readjusted his backpack, ensuring it sat firmly on his shoulders after the wild gesturing. “...Yes, probably.”

Qingxi moved herself a little closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay.”

A little stunned by the sudden, largely unprovoked, empathy, all he managed in response was a little, confused, “Thank you.”

Soon, the large sign that bellowed the name of the ‘Big Man Diner’ out into the city’s street loomed over them, and they were left facing where they supposed they’d have their breakfast.

The building’s facade was well-kept, composed of beautifully furbished oaken woods. Only two small latticed windows allowed the morning light into the diner’s interior, allowing the facade to maintain a solid and cohesive look crafted by darker planks that framed the lighter walls.

As they prepared to make their way into the diner, a singular swinging wooden door stood in their path, decorated exquisitely with embossed gold and frosted glass that gave glimpses of the warm orange lighting within.

Pallas knocked on the saloon door before pushing her way through it, Soleiman and Qingxi following closely behind her.

As they entered, the calm serenity of the indoors overtook them. Their noses were flooded with a soft fragrance, thick yet fluffy in its scent. Above them hung orange lanterns that shone through cages of stained glass, each one its own unique piece of art. Some depicted beautiful wooded landscapes, others a rocky sea infested with caravels whose sails cut through the blues of the horizon.

A little mini-counter stood beside the main walkway, though a little sign that indicated its inoperation steered them away. Instead, they made their way deeper into the diner, their eyes going over the handful of other patrons present. Funnily enough, the diner was surprisingly empty, despite it being the middle of the morning- what they’d presumed would be peak breakfast hour.

The room itself was somewhat small, though the sparsity of customers helped to somewhat alleviate that. On the side of the room opposite the entrance stood a well-lit bar, shelves of all sorts of liquor from the exquisite to the cheap framing the counter where the singular bartender slowly worked away.

Unfortunately, though, the quiet and calming atmosphere of the diner soon melted away as their eyes landed on the only patron sat by a table adjacent to the central walkway.

A patron that wore the Gravitas purple.