The hero reached out towards the divine weapon. Flames licked at his hands but he ignored them. The hero knew that his skin was too tough to burn. A lesser person, the hero thought, would have been turned to cinders by the heat long ago. Only he alone had the qualities required to reach this heavenly lance.
Guan Yo Shen knew that he was special. His very first memories were all full of triumphant jubilation, and things had only gotten better since then. The fastest rising prodigy of the Guan family, he was proud and powerful. Excited to be next in line as patriarch, Shen had thrown himself into his studies and training with an excess that frightened his teachers and sometimes even himself.
There had been many nights, lying broken and torn on the cold floor of his bedroom, which Shen had questioned his destiny. Times when it seemed like his efforts were being poured into a bottomless reservoir, lost and wasted. Those nights, Shen had cursed his father for being patriarch, he cursed his uncle, Guan Po Shang, for being so covetous and cruel. He wondered whether his own strength was ever important, or whether things would be the same with or without him.
So he had stopped leaving it up to others.
With the weight of his family name, its legacy and its future, on his shoulders, Shen had entered the labyrinth below the world and taken matters into his own hands. The confidence to do so had been beaten into him over years of pressure. Countless hours being trained to be the best, being told that he was unique, seeing how clearly superior he was to others around his age.
It had all led to this.
As Shen’s hands closed around the shaft of the lance, the sweltering heat of the room disappeared. All discomfort vanished without a trace. Without the blistering temperature of the room, he could now open his eyes and see it properly. Shen had guided himself to the weapon by the increasingly scorching air rather than his own vision.
Now that he could see, Shen was in awe.
He was standing in a perfectly semi-spherical room. The hall he had come from was almost more of a slide, the smooth rock and steep incline had been precarious. He hadn’t so much found his way here as fallen into a hole. Even his luck was otherworldly, he thought to himself while smirking. How many others would have been groping against the scalding hot walls until they reached their limit, while Shen himself simply slipped by accident into the resting place of the soul relic.
The lance itself had been on a pedestal in the middle of the room. It was not an ornate space, the walls were the same smooth rock which made up the rest of the labyrinth. The raised space which the weapon had been laid upon was the only decoration within, and even that was nothing special. After walking through the lavish Guan vault, and after seeing some of the more intricate rooms within the labyrinth already, this was almost a disappointment.
Almost.
He looked at the immaculately weighted weapon in his hand. It looked as though it would be unwieldy, but he found that he could move it like an extension of his own arm. Power coursed through his core like he had never felt, both his own mana and the magic with the lance fusing and becoming something… more.
Screams cut through the silence of the hollow space, howling agony ripping through the labyrinth corridors. Something weak was found by something stronger. Shen knew that within the halls there was no such thing as a moment of peace. Danger lurks behind every shadow, death hangs from the ceiling like a fat spider. The journey to this place had been arduous, even for himself. It was no wonder that the lance had remained hidden for so long. With both the Guan restrictions on even entering the labyrinth coupled with the supreme danger in reaching this place, Shen thought that he may be the first person in centuries who even could reach the lance.
Now that he had his quarry, it was time to return. His journey had taken him longer than he’d had liked. He had tried not to think of home as he delved into the depths of the massive, ancient maze but now that he had what he came for, the worries caught up to him.
Except the lance did not agree.
There was an intent within the lance that told Shen his path was elsewhere. For a moment, Shen started moving on. He stopped himself when he realised he was walking even deeper into the underground maze.
“Wait… what?” He spoke aloud, as though he would be able to interrogate himself.
The path is this way.
“Who said that?” Shen was suddenly scared. He couldn’t sense anyone around him, but the female voice he had just heard was real. He couldn’t say how he knew but the woman who spoke was immensely powerful. Something in her voice reminding him of his father, maybe? “Where are you?”
I am here. I am momentum.
“Where? What does that mean?” Shen couldn’t see her. Her voice didn’t bounce off the walls like his own did. “What’s going on?”
I shall show you.
Unbidden, Shen’s right arm raised and with it, the lance. It was not his own arm that was moving, it was the weapon itself. The lance pointed itself towards the entrance Shen had come to. Shen could feel the energy growing within the lance, a swelling of power that he himself had no hope of containing. “Wait, stop-”
The entrance to the room was demolished. An arc of energy leapt from the sharp tip of the lance and caused catastrophic damage to the labyrinth walls. Shen was stunned. Not only because he now did not seem to have a way back to the Guan family vault, but because he had tried to mark the walls of the maze himself, thinking it would give him a way to remember his path backwards. Nothing he had tried had even scratched the stone.
The power in his hands was unmistakable. The allure of it was nearly enough for him to ignore what had just occurred, but not quite. The lance clattered to the floor with a metallic clang as Shen released his grip on it. His fingers seemed to crack like they were covered in ice, the act of opening them had been painful.
“What are you?” He asked the lance.
Power. Destiny. Everything in between.
Shen had never heard of the soul relics having a consciousness, but they were rare and ancient. It was no great surprise that they had secrets. Still, wasn’t this beyond the pale? Did the emperor and his uncle hear this voice, too? The demon queen holds multiple soul relics according to the rumours, what cacophony does she hear?
“I need to go home, my family needs me.” Would reasoning with the inanimate object be less insane than doing as the inanimate object wished? Shen didn’t have an answer to that.
Going backwards is not an option. Your sister is close, but does not need you.
“Lian? She’s in the labyrinth?” Lian could barely use her mana without knocking herself out.
She does not need you.
Shen picked the lance back up, growing angry. This was not how things were supposed to go. He was the one in control, this was his story where he was the hero. The soul relic connected to Shen’s mana once more, that intoxicating power flowing back into Shen made him feel even more confident.
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“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Shen said. He flared his own mana, a jumpy feeling of alacrity and sparking electricity flowed through him, as it always did. The storm of Shen’s mana was a more literal description than others. He rose from the ground, the effect of the slipstream robe which he wore. The lance vibrated in Shen’s hand, like a captured wasp trying to escape. He tightened his grip.
Shen’s mana made him fast and strong. Every practitioner can channel their mana to their body and improve their strength, speed or durability, but the nature of Shen’s mana was different. A technique borne of almost laziness, he had taken the most basic use of mana and made it his whole style. While others shored up their weaknesses with loose mana, Shen concentrated all of it together. At one point, others may have been quick to tell him that he should do things differently. Shen had long stopped listening to the prattling of others when it came to what he should do.
That included stupid talking lances in the middle of the planet.
“We go to my sister. Now.” Without waiting for a response, Shen charged forward. He pummelled through the destroyed entryway as though the boulders before him were made of feathers. As soon as he decided to move, he had already arrived.
Do as you will.
Shen ignored the lance, though the words held a finality that seemed to mean the lance was also done with the conversation. He didn’t care. If he was considered strong before, the power he now wielded was otherworldly.
See? Shen told himself. You’re the hero.
—
The emperor Shin Ri Hon watched as the shield by which his family had defended their lands for generations twitched. He had removed it from his person for the first time in many years.
“Is it happening with your relic, also?” Shin Ri Hon looked up from the shield to see a flustered, red face. His uncle entered the room without the proper decorum, but the man was afforded many privileges due to his position as both pope and relative of the emperor.
“Yes. This can only mean one of two things.” The emperor must choose his words carefully in public, but in his private office, he was able to be a lot more free. “Either a soul relic has been found, something which hasn’t happened in centuries… or the demons are on the move.”
“Indeed, one does seem more likely than the other.” Shin Boh Tahn retorted cryptically. Shin Ri Hon thought that his uncle looked ridiculous. With the large, unwieldy hat, ridiculously impractical ceremonial robes and overly ornate jewellery of his station that weighed him into a stoop, he looked like a gilded prawn. After waiting a moment to see if the older man would elaborate on his thoughts, Ri Hon placed his hand upon his shield.
“The demons move.” He was certain of it. News of political tremors with Po Dia’s realm had likely reached them. A tide of violent and abhorrent monsters was set to fall upon the land of Shin. “Are your troop movements going well?”
“They’re not troops!” His uncle squawked, as though there were anyone in the room for him to convince. “They’re missionaries. The rousing of a crusade is a careful thing, nephew.”
There was no one in the world who could speak down to Shin Ri Hon except for his uncle. He hated it. Through gritted teeth, he asked “so how are the missions going for your prostelystising followers? Do they have enough scripture to cover their spears? Do not talk to me as though I am one of your foolish sheep, Uncle.”
For a moment, both men felt the room fall away. As powerful as they were, the moment a temper flared, all pretences dropped. The table between the men was a grand, heavy stone piece, but it would last no longer than a piece of paper if one of these sparks ignited an actual temper. Shin Ri Hon tensed his shoulders, gripping his heavenly shield with white knuckles. Likewise, the stoop and theatre of his uncle’s pretend gait were thrown away, the two soul relics which he held brandished just as readily.
It was a question Shin Ri Hon asked himself more and more these days. Would the whip and the rod be enough to stop the shield?
A question they should never need to find an answer to.
“The relics themselves are excited, aren’t they?” His uncle said, already wrapping the whip around his shoulder and placing the rod back into his belt. “Worry not, Ri Hon, the winds of change push our sails. Already we are sending missionaries to Allusia. Where an army cannot tread, my followers can.”
“The demons will slaughter any who speak of the empty god in Allusia.” Since before he became emperor, Allusia had been a thorn in the side of the Shin realm, almost literally. Located on the border of Shin, Guan and the demon wasteland, it was a fortress that could easily be used as a spear. Dealing with that fortified position was paramount if the empire was to ever grow to cover the continent.
“As I said,” Shin Boh Tahn had a grin far too devilish to belong to the pope on his face, “rousing a crusade is a careful thing.”
—————————————————
Danshing stands proud and protected on the western coast of the continent of Pallon. It is a near unassailable fortress, as well as a masterpiece of design and form. The capital of the Shin empire, its majestic waterways are known across the world as one of the eight journeys, a place worthy of pilgrimage for scholars of architecture and history. Along with the waterway and the royal palace, it also houses the holy seat of the empty church. Due to an edict by the church, any who wish to prove their worth in the eyes of god are congregating in Danshing.
For Yurie, this was both a blessing and a curse. Her usual haunting of the dockside was no longer a quiet time keeping an eye out for someone to pickpocket. With the influx of wannabe crusaders, the small peace she had managed to eek out had been irreparably interrupted. She had found an old woman sleeping in the stoop she chose most nights, and had decided to finally take advantage of the confusion.
Hooded white robes are the uniform for missionaries of the empty god’s church. This suited Yurie as covering her face saved her a lot of time. Keeping her head down, she weaved through the slow moving pilgrims that were in her way. Stopping just short of shoving people, she was rushing forward. There was every chance she was already late. It would be a shame to miss the adventure, but she’d find another one. She always did.
During a particularly frustrating pause in momentum, Yurie started to do her breathing. With no formal training, Yurie couldn’t put a name to what she was doing, but it did something. Her muscles felt less tense, the sounds of the crowd became less of an overload. She moved the breath from one side of herself to the other. If a learned practitioner was watching, they might have found her cycling technique clumsy, but potent. People usually chose not to watch Yurie, though.
As she opened her eyes, she saw her path.
The world was alight with colour. It had taken Yurie until she was nine or ten before she realised other people didn’t see the world like this. It had been worrying, even scary, when she had first noticed. Things that would hurt her were covered in shadows, as though the light was avoiding them. Ominous shades, the colours of bruising. Things that would eventually lead to happiness would shine, glowing in rapturous fluorescence. The technique took on much more nuance as she grew older, and now that she was pushing true adulthood, it had become her guide.
A golden path of footprints weaved amongst the crowd. If the dark crimson, or foetid yellows led to danger, then leaf greens and sky blue aimed her to safety, but gold led to excitement. She knew that she looked ridiculous following the invisible footsteps, but Yurie had never cared how she looked. That was the business of others.
She dipped through groups of people, around the back of propped up stalls, hopping onto a railing for a few steps before dropping to a hunch which she would then launch from at a full sprint. Even as she followed the instructions of her future sight, Yurie wondered how her mana decided that she needed to sprint. It felt incredibly natural to follow the path laid out before her, so she rarely questioned the directions she intuited.
The golden path of footsteps in Yurie’s vision vanished as she reached a larger crowd of people at the edge of one of the bigger docks. The group parted unwillingly as Yurie shoved her way to the front and she soon found herself looking at quite possibly the least amused face she had ever seen. With a supreme downward curl to his lips, he looked at though something awful smelling was stuck to his thick grey moustache. The disdain turned into a look of pitying disgust as the man made eye contact with Yurie.
“I’ve come to join the holy mission.” Yurie offered the information freely, between gasped breaths. This was the part she rarely got right. There was no golden path for conversations. Yurie had managed to find some robes which fit, and she amused herself with the thought of the poor acolyte who found themselves without clothing after their bath. If the man asked her to recite scripture, she would be in trouble, but he had already set his face into the derisive scorn which graced almost all followers of the empty god she met.
“All trials in this life are as boons in the next, young one.” He said flatly. He had stopped looking at Yurie, and now had his eyes firmly behind her to the crowd she had pushed past in her mana-fueled run. “Find your place on the ship and keep out of trouble.”
Even Yurie was surprised with how easy that had been, but anyone with eyes could see that the church was raising an army. They would take anyone with them, it seemed, even herself. There were three lines of people, one of which Yurie had ended up quickly at the front of. All three lines were being waved through person by person and funnelled towards two massive ships.
Following what the others were doing, Yurie stepped onto a gangplank, but hesitated when the walkway swayed under her feet. Forcing herself forward, she boarded the boat. There was a solid mix of clearly religious pilgrims and opportunistic agnostics, like herself. She could tell who was really a follower of the church by their reaction to her face.
A helpful acolyte tried to give her some water from a large jug as she boarded, but flinched when she reached for it. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Yurie offered in a rare moment of loneliness, “it’s just a mark, really. No better place to get things straight with the church, right?”
“It makes you look evil. May your repentance be long.” The young acolyte made time to give her a particularly dirty look before moving away, taking the water with him. It seemed she would not be told to leave, but carrying the mark of sin had been and would continue to be a burden she could not escape. The wrong place at the wrong time. A hungry child steals an apple and because a pious man stands nearby, she’s marked for life. Before spite could bring venom to her throat, Yurie took another deep, calming breath and channelled her mana.
Her future sight had led her here. The golden trail was never ever wrong before, she simply had to follow it and there would be something interesting at the end. However, surrounded as she now was, she felt unsure of the path before her for the first time. She almost wished that it had been harder to board the ship. The man with the moustache could have told her to leave, and she would have. The ease at which the world was changing around her caused her anxiety that she couldn’t articulate.
As her mana settled within her core, Yurie’s breathing technique coloured the ship in different shades and tints of light. For an awful moment, it seemed as though the whole large boat was covered in shadow, that she had made a mistake. This much darkness meant that things were quite likely to go bad, Yurie’s experience told her. However, a small bundle of rope was thrumming with a positively lovely warm amber glow.
Keeping to herself, Yurie settled amongst the bundle and made herself as comfortable as she could. Her unknown destination was waiting, she knew that she just needed to follow her instincts.