Taurus kneels in the center of an empty room, muzzle pressed awkwardly and chin almost folded into his neck to keep both head and horns as low to the ground as possible. Even so awkwardly bent, they’re still a few inches off the ground, and dangerously close to touching the edge of the ritual formation he’s in the center of. The room around him has been changed, desks, furniture and statues all picked up and shoved aside to allow for the careful creation of a ritual design and circle he’s had to memorize.
The check ins are mandatory, but nothing so convenient as a speaking-stone is permitted in anything less than emergency circumstances. Once a month, he has to do this, and so once a month he spends most of a day setting up the minute, intricate inkwork and powdered materials into the right forms, and prepares for visitation.
And then he kneels in its center and bows, every part of him as low to the ground as he can physically make it.
He waits there for an hour before he feels his Qi and the formation begin to take effect. They like to make sure he waits.
Eventually, he feels the world begin to flicker. The shadows lengthen, drawn into the diagram, pulling the edges of the room closer and closer as if his perspective is falling, as if a singularity is dancing just out of sight and pulling everything into the dark and-
There is a flicker of light, and a star is born above. It radiates light, it radiates warmth, it radiates a burning, loving kind of control, and it descends. For several moments, there is nothing but the dark, and the sensation of falling, and the light. And then it touches down, just above him.
“Raise your head, Runemaster Boriah,” speaks a voice he is all too familiar with. “Let your gaze rest upon me.”
He obeys, maintaining the bow while allowing his head to slowly, awkwardly come off the floor and look up.
“Such majestic horns,” says the figure above him. “We’ll have to make sure they’re clipped soon, hmm?”
“Of course, Grandmaster Errath,” Taurus rumbles, dipping his gaze into a nod.
“Keep looking at me, Runemaster Boriah,” the Grandmaster whispers. “I would like for you to see me as I ponder your actions.”
He tenses, just a bit. Then, obediently, he raises his eyes, his back and neck already aching and his eyes beginning to sting as he looks up at the burning, brightly-outlined figure from his pose on the floor.
Grandmaster Errath smiles down at him. Errath Kahn, Grandmaster of the Division of Altered Cultivation, even when formed from burning, rippling fire and star-bright radiation, does not look like a man who holds much power. He wears simple robes, with little ostentation, and no jewelry save a single earring, a single emerald-jade ring, and a single pendant to complement well made but simple clothes. His face has wrinkles on it, something nearly all of the greatest cultivators do away with, and rather than an impressive beard or boldly shaven face, he has a simple goatee and five-o’clock shadow surrounding it, barely visible on skin that Taurus knows is olive-tanned as if perhaps from long, relaxed hours in the sun and shade.
His eyes are the exception. They say eyes are windows to the soul, and Errath, for all his casual attire, cannot disguise them, not here, not in the crux of such a powerful ritual. They glimmer, a savage mix of red and blue and gold, each color battling and swirling against the others, all left secondary to the fact that each of his eyes holds three pupils, each one slitted and each one half-morphing into the others.
“What to do with you, Boriah,” Grandmaster Errath whispers, shaking his head in disappointment. “You know, you could have simply come to me if you were having trouble. You take on too much. Your disability need not reflect poorly on you, and this drive you have to prove yourself, no matter how noble, can never be as noble as a simple job well done.”
“I thank you for your insight, honored Grandmaster,” Taurus says, fighting hard not to blink too much, a finger beginning to twitch.
“All those troublemakers you’ve taken on. It’s applaudable, taking on so many problem cases, and I admit I find many of them fascinating myself. That young apprentice of yours, does she know why she’s been chosen yet?”
“No, Grandmaster,” Taurus replies, breathing a bit heavier.
“Good, good. The better we can keep the conditions of that experiment undisclosed, the better the eventual results, I think. Your methods provide dividends, Boriah, of that have no doubt. I just worry. That… what was it, purple something or other sect? They’ve been complaining, you know. You’re lucky the governor seems content to laugh at the whole affair. I assume it’ll be asking you for a favor soon, and you’ll do well to fulfill it as dutifully as your other responsibilities. There’s only so much grace I can extend, even to such a favored son.”
“I understand, Grandmaster,” Taurus groans, a hint of strain in his voice. He’s not sure, but he thinks he can smell his fur beginning to crisp, and his eyes are tearing up badly.
“Good. You so often do. That’s what I like most about you, Boriah, you understand. All the necessary sacrifices, all the things which must be pursued and gained, you understand the need for it all. And you so often deliver.”
The glowing, incandescent figure kneels down lower, coming closer and closer into Taurus’ sight, the kindly, inhuman face of the thing he is speaking to filling his vision and forcing it brighter and brighter until he can feel his corneas start to truly burn from the pain. He doesn’t dare close his eyes.
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“But things change, Boriah,” Grandmaster Errath whispers. “Fail me once, shame on you. Fail me twice, well… we can’t have that.”
He cups Taurus’ chin gently, as if scolding a child.
“Don’t lose control of them again, dear,” he whispers, forcing eye contact even as Taurus spasms at the radiant heat of the touch. “Or I’ll have to send someone in to supervise. And I do love how free I can let you roam, Boriah. I would hate to take that away from you.”
He lets go of Taurus’ chin. He waits for a moment to see if Taurus will break eye contact. When he doesn’t, Errath nods, once, and stands again.
“You may bow,” he tells him.
Slowly, forcing himself to remain still, to keep from moving too fast, Taurus bends his head and neck back into submission, letting his eyes cry painful tears unto the ground below as he grits his teeth.
“Have you had much progress researching the attack?” Grandmaster Errath asks, switching topics.
“Some, Grandmaster,” Taurus replies, keeping his voice level from years of experience. “We’ve ascertained the material as sunstone, from the Cold Sun, and there are only so many deposits and landfalls every decade. We’re tracking all of them now. Unfortunately, we’ve only a few of the artifacts remaining; while it seems the outer bodies were mere undead with no implanted techniques or major Qi reservoirs, said artifacts are by far the most precious components and what allowed the weapons to demonstrate such power. They are clearly artificial, but the technique for them seems self-taught, not corresponding to any known styles, even those in the restricted files. We believe we’re close to understanding how the connection between the altered steel of the constructs and the cold sunstone function.”
“Good,” replies the glowing figure. “How exciting. A fresh face on the scene, ripe for the picking. Do try to take the creator alive when you find them, will you? It’s not that I underestimate the talents of you and your researchers, but the addition of such a mind to the Division of Altered Cultivation is always a boon. And send over what you’ve found so far, I’d love to begin running tests to see if there are other applications to sunstone we haven’t considered.
“Your will is the way, Grandmaster,” Taurus replies.
“So it is,” the figure of masks and radiation agrees. “Best of luck, Boriah. As always, I have high hopes for you, child.”
And with that, the vision ends, a hundred times more abruptly than it began.
Taurus keeps his face pressed to the ground, cycling his Qi. He’ll heal from this. He’s never not healed from these monthly check-ins, but… every time, the fear that this is the moment that he’ll be pushed too far or fail in a way he hasn’t in so long rears its head.
It’s only when the pain has faded, and when he can blink without tears forming, that he sighs, and slowly gets to his feet.
Most of the others of the Division he’s met have assistants to help with at least parts of setting up the formation and the cleaning of it after, but he prefers to do it alone. Easier that way, to be the only one blamed if something goes wrong, and to keep potential information lost to overeager minds at a minimum. It takes him far less time to clean than it did to set up anyways; a pot filled with water, a rag, and a quick flex of Qi to undo the chemical bindings between the ingredients of the ink and leave it simple to wipe up. It’s almost meditative, the next hour or so dedicated to nothing but the simple, safe act of cleaning.
There had been no mention of the details of the escape. No mention that Taurus had gone out to fix it, or that he’d handled the aftermath well. The silence could point to evidence being collected to use against him just as easily as it could point to the possibility that he handled it acceptably, but there had been no mention of the boy.
There wouldn’t have needed to be, really, some Foundational-realm street urchin isn’t really a thing worth mentioning. Not to beasts like the head of a Division of the Empire. But the fact is, the boy had gained his cultivation after meeting his latest recruit. The Divination department had confirmed it; before their relationship, he’d been nothing of note.
And by the time Taurus met him and… did what he did, the boy had gone up an entire realm, and had felt strange. Not off, not strangely rotten to his senses like he’s seen before in cases like this, where a young cultivator pursues their path on their own, without a sect or support. It had smelled… proper. Like watching a surprisingly well made teapot in some corner of the world pour a true and pure stream of water from its spout. Not anything strange, but right in a way that’s hard to articulate.
It would have been easy. Easier, even. Eliminate the problem by taking said problem as an advantage, like he’s been trained to do. No one to interrogate the witness to a failing of the Division, or to testify (willingly or not) to the need for greater bindings on his latest project, and he could have added the kid to the roster. It would have been fascinating to see if the “organ-deficit cultivation experiment" was capable of somehow altering and improving the boy’s path.
Fascinating and dangerous. Another reason to keep her bound more fully, and something to attract the attention of the Grandmaster, or even one of the other Leaders below him and standing opposite Taurus. Too easy for her to be plucked away and the boy taken with her to see just how far and how deep any confirmed changes go.
He pauses, realizing he’s clenching his fist. Slowly, he forces himself to relax, even as he touches a long, thin scar on his chest.
They can dig very deep indeed to find what they’re looking for.
Too much risk. Too much potential for suffering, and too much of a danger that it would take her out of his grasp faster, when he still has so much left to do, and so much further left to go. The girl, the felinid, that he can spin, use for himself. Anything she gains from her relationship with the central experiment (with Raika, he forcefully reminds himself) he can spin as his own unique insights into her bestial nature. And besides, at least to some extent, she chose to be here. She'd chosen to follow the altered, abnormal entity. Her, he can stomach and mask the consequences of.
Better to end it quick and painless.
Well. As much of each as he could manage.
She may well hate him forever, but that’s alright. There's other avenues of coercion and negotiation to consider, and she's at least aware of the gulf between her, the safety of those like that boy, and him. He’s admittedly concerned about some of the new behaviors, but trauma responses are to be expected, and accommodated if possible in the process. He’s had others reject the process before, and he’s succeeded… more often than he’s failed, at least. He’s confident he can get this to work.
He doesn’t need her to like him. He just needs to find out how to get her to do what he wants.
Everything has to click into place. He’s so close now.
He looks at the letters on his desk.
He’s so close now.
He just needs to get this right.