Surviving a Pandoran winter boiled down to three simple rules: first, dress warmly; second, spend a lot of time with friends; and third, don't listen to the whispers carried in by the chill winter winds.

That last one was the most important, to the point that the first two were just there to support it. The coldness of winter corrupted, and holing yourself up was considered a terrible move, as much as Madness was contagious.

Sorin had never paid too much attention to rules or protocols before coming to the Bloodwood Outpost. But after witnessing multiple cases of corruption-induced insanity in his clinic, he'd been forced to reprioritize. Socializing was a necessity, he'd decided, and the small talk he dreaded was a convenient way of going about it.

"Thank Percival," said Sorin, accepting a cup of tea from his butler. "It's a bit chilly out this morning, isn't it?"

"Indeed, it is," replied Percival. "The weather mages are calling for ten degrees below zero and less than twenty degrees with the wind chill." To mortals, these were deadly temperatures, but to a cultivator like Sorin, it barely warranted a light jacket.

Unfortunately, this was only under normal circumstances, circumstances that didn't apply to Sorin. Corruption ran deep in his bones and was as inseparable from his person as his poisonous mana. Violence raged within his still-human body, and it was only thanks to the divinity in his blood that he could hold it at bay.

"Are there any snacks to go along with the tea?" asked Sorin. "And did you brew an extra cup of coffee like I asked?"

"How could I ever forget Lord Lorimer's coffee," replied Percival, setting a large cup on the table next to Sorin. A small rat crawled out of Sorin's pocket, lapped at the bowl, and shot Percival a grin of approval. "I'm glad the coffee is to your liking, Lord Lorimer. As for the snacks, Clarice will be bringing them out shortly."

"Out of the way, out of the way!" came a voice from behind the kitchen door. Percival stepped to the side just as a blast of magical wind knocked it open, revealing a maid carrying two large trays stacked to the brim with pastries. "Here they are. Fresh from the baker, as requested. Oh, drat, I dragged snow inside again. Just give me a second to clean up."

Clarice placed the trays on the table and used a blast of wind to collect a small pile of white fluff from her thick winter coat. She didn't strictly need such thick clothes anymore since Sorin had healed her cultivation and restored her abilities as a mage, but old habits died hard. For example: using the full intensity of her magic to assist in her cleaning instead of a smidgeon, thereby knocking down vases and paintings and nearly knocking over Lorimer's previous coffee.

Fortunately, Percival was very much aware of Clarice's lack of control. Silver strings shot out from beneath his white shirt sleeves and propped up Lorimer's beverage, prevented three paintings from falling off the wall, and coiled around two falling antique vases before they hit the carpet and shattered into thousands of expensive porcelain pieces.

"Sorry about that," said Clarice, clearing her throat. "I'm still getting used to having my magic back." She tossed her coat onto a rack using a more controlled dose of magic, then took the lid off the trays to retrieve pastries for Sorin and Lorimer before taking the rest to the kitchen.

"You'll have to forgive her for the overly chirpy demeanor and lack of decorum," Percival said to Sorin. "She's come a long way since her wild adventuring days, and her recovery has led to a resurgence of bad habits."

"I, for one, think it's a good change," said Sorin. "I'm glad my meager talents were able to clean out your damaged meridians before atrophy destroyed them."

"Your talents far exceed your fathers' in this regard," said Percival. "He ministered to my injuries, and it was only thanks to his efforts that I was able to recover even a small amount of mana manipulation." Then he sighed. "If only the Medical Association weren't so short-sighted."

"That's politics for you," said Sorin with a shrug. Though he'd been trained as a physician since he was young, he'd knowingly committed a cardinal sin in the medical community by recovering his cultivation and becoming a poison cultivator.

Physicians were extremely prejudiced against poison cultivators, a highly foolish move in Sorin's opinion. Poisons were a weapon that physicians commonly wielded to combat disease and all forms of corruption. If not for the Ten Thousand Poison Cannon and the mana and skills it provided, Sorin would never have been able to treat Percival and Clarice's conditions.

"Is there any news I should be aware of?" asked Sorin.

"Nothing you don't already know," said Percival. "Most of the critical infrastructure damaged during the Demon Tide has been repaired. Emergency rebuilding operations are winding down, with further repairs to be completed as needed throughout the winter.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Cultivators are beginning to seclude themselves for breakthroughs as is custom. It won't be long now before the Outpost's strength transforms on a fundamental level."

All of this had naturally come at a great cost. Hundreds of mortals, hundreds of blood-thickening cultivators, and a handful of bone-forging cultivators had perished to successfully defend the outpost, not to mention the astronomical financial costs involved.

But this was reality for humanity. The Seven Evils still occupied most of Pandora. It was only thanks to Hope that humans were able to expand outward from Olympia and reclaim their ancestral homes.

"My team members and I will also be secluding ourselves shortly," Sorin said to Percival. "So, if there's anything important that needs to be taken care of, please let me know."

"More of the usual," said Percival. "Your Aunt Marjorie sent a letter inquiring as to your intentions in Delphi. Your cousin, Aurora, made no mention of your intentions but invited you to tea once you'd settled into the Capital."

"Just refuse everything, as always," said Sorin, shutting down Percival before he could get into the meat and bones of it. "I have no interest in accepting any invitations."

Clarice, who'd been cleaning not far away, zipped over like a swift wind. "You should really consider accepting a few of them, dear," said the mage. "Interactions between family members are extremely important. You never know what benefits even shallow relationships could yield if only you put in the time to nurture them."

"I don't care," said Sorin. "The move to Delphi is only temporary. I'm only going to speak to a few close relatives and family friends to get a handle on the situation in the family before moving to Olympia. That's it." That, and dig into potential motives various parties might have had in killing his parents. Clan leaders of the major families didn't just randomly drop dead without reason. " While I'm at it, I'll go on a few adventures with my friends. If possible, I'll study in the family library and get my two-star apothecary designation. I'm really not interested in anything else."

"I'm sorry to say that I agree with Clarice," said Percival. "Your views on these matters are a little short-sighted, albeit understandable given your parents'—"

"I. Don't. Care!" Violence bubbled up inside Sorin, demanding to be released. He instinctively mobilized his mana and spirituality to keep it in check, only to realize that it was already bubbling out of control. It needed to be released.

Not wanting to take out his anger on living people, Sorin did the next best thing and unleashed a rain of poison needles on the painting of a distant family member, obliterating both it and the wall it was nailed to in the process. Wood and paint hissed as the poison worked its way into the broken materials, further degrading them into less-than-useless pools of sludge and garbage.

"I'm… I'm sorry," said Sorin, controlling his breathing. He manipulated his internal poisons to pull the corruption back into his blood, where his divinity could easily control it.

"Are you alright, Sorin?" asked Percival. "Should I inquire with a Priest of Hope on your behalf?"

"I said I'm fine," snapped Sorin. "The Priest can't do anything for me." Percival was naturally concerned about the possible influence of Madness and was not aware of the hidden corruption in Sorin's body. "But if you insist, I'll go visit Bishop Harold before making my breakthrough."

"That would be for the best," said Percival with a sigh of relief. "I hate to say this, Sorin, but your temper has been atrocious of late. It's been making people wonder." Which circled back to the need for socialization and small talk in the winter months, and recommendations on dressing warmly.

"Although I'm going to Delphi and dipping my toe into politics, I don't have any intention of becoming a full participant in the political scene," Sorin reiterated to both Percival and Clarice. "The last time I got involved in politics, my parents died, people I called friends stabbed me in the back, and none of my so-called 'allies' in the family did anything to support me."

"Most of those things had nothing to do with your efforts, and you know that," scolded Percival.

"I realize that Percival," said Sorin. "But you won't change my mind on this matter. Now, is there anything else that needs my attention before I enter seclusion?"

Percival let out a resigned sigh. "There is one item that requires your immediate attention. Governor Marsh has requested your presence at your earliest convenience."

Sorin frowned. "Did he say what this was about?" An invitation from the governor wasn't something he could ignore.

"I believe he mentioned something about you meeting his two youngest children," said Percival. "Both of them are talented cultivators in the blood-thickening realm. They're a little lacking compared to the former Vice-Governor, Allen Marsh, but Governor Marsh does dote on them."

Of course, thought Sorin. And unlike most people in the Outpost, he's probably aware of my abilities and my team's situation. More likely than not, he's looking for me to perform a meridian opening on his children. That, and the governor was likely looking to investigate the situation regarding his corruption. To Sorin's knowledge, only the governor, Guild Master Roy, and Bishop Harold were aware of his corrupt status, but only Bishop Harold was aware of the specifics.

"Please relay a message to his butler informing Governor Marsh that I'll be visiting in the early afternoon if that's convenient for him," said Sorin. "After I go pay Bishop Harold a visit."

"I will personally deliver your reply," said Percival. "Is there anything else that you require, or shall I dip into the kitchen and prepare a few things for lunch before heading off?"

Sorin eyed Lorimer, who'd already finished off his coffee and had devoured most of the pastries. The greedy rat had pilfered most of Sorin's plate.

"More snacks, please," said Sorin. "And a fresh cup of tea, if you will. I can't drink the stuff cold, and our conversation was a little more… active than I'd hoped."

"Of course, Mr. Kepler," said Percival. He collected the cups and plates and took the long way to the kitchen, bringing Sorin's attention to the melted rubble and the ruined painting of Aunt Margorie, which would need to be decontaminated before Clarice could even get close enough to clean.