“So it is,” Zel nodded, making no qualms about picking up the plate and cutting off a piece. It was equal parts opulently sweet, spicy, and creamy, almost bordering on culinary kitsch, and certainly not what she would’ve expected of a cultivator sect’s cooking.
“In that case, you might want to know that door,” he pointed with his own fork, having sat back down, “has been sealed up since before I joined, some two-hundred thirty years back. It uh… It also happens to contain the first sect elder’s quarters, including his personal vault and library. Given that incantation you yelled, I’d hazard a guess that you’ll find what you’re looking for. Though…”
A furrowed brow as he took a bite and chewed.
“What in the seven hells was that about subsuming a soul fragment?”
“Shit, you heard that huh?” Zel chuckled. “Well, no point keeping this secret in particular if you’re to be my subordinate I suppose - as far as I know, my soul is pieced together from hundreds of pieces.”
“That’s impossible, unless-” began the chef as dread crept into his voice.
“Homunculus, yes. No, I don’t know how, or who. Probably someone associated with the Sage, though,” Zel interrupted, pointing through the door at a gaunt figure that had just lumbered into the hallway bearing a mop. “Now, if you don’t mind answering my own question, what’s with that walking corpse in the hallway?”
“Huh?” leaned the chef into the door, before leaning back in. “That’s just Nesgon, the groundskeeper. He’s been an outer disciple since the founding, I think he’s unintentionally self-mummified, he might very well be closer to actual enlightenment than any of the inner disciples ever were.”
“Speaking of names, I don’t recall learning either of yours just yet. I’m Ozmir.”
“The name’s Zelsys Newman,” she said.
“Mmf… Zefaris Newman,” added Zef after hurriedly swallowing a mouthful, already having eaten most of her slice.
“Newman?” Ozmir raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look like sisters.”
“We’re not related. Not by blood, anyway. Newman’s just the family name I picked when I decided to found a cultivator family of my own.”
“...Ah. I suppose I should have the appendix to my name changed from “of the Black Horses”, then. Getting rid of all the horse iconography might be more of a… A long-term project, let’s say,” said the Ankhezian half-jokingly.
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Zel nodded in agreement, setting her plate aside, rising to her feet, and turning eyes upon the now-unsealed door, “Right, where was I… You said this has been sealed up for how long again? And it contains the elder’s personal library?”
The chef sighed and leaned back, setting his plate to the side, “Yes, it’s all a great big mess as far as I’m aware. Our branch has had a rather messy history, and the other branches sort-of disowned us as a result; as I recall, the founding chapter had taken to calling us “Southern Tarpans” to single us out.”
“Does that connect to why the sect elder’s chambers were sealed off, or are you just trying to catch us up on sect history, old man?” Zel prodded with a grin.
“I’m getting there, don’t go acting like I’m some venerable ancient. I’ll have you know I barely even remember the Three Kings Era,” he laughed. “The story goes that the first elder, supposedly, caused a great deal of issues with other sects and even other branches, and he foresaw that his subordinates were preparing to strip him of his post. So, he locked himself inside his quarters and had his personal retainer put that big central seal on the door. Instead of negotiating, those same retainers decided to seal him in there properly and starve him out. As you might guess, trying to starve a cultivator sect’s elder when the sect building stands on a leyline intersection is...”
“...A fool’s errand,” Zef finished his sentence. “He might even still be alive in there.”
“Wouldn’t that be a hell of a thing…” Zel muttered, running her fingers across the door. Then, without warning, she grabbed its handles and pushed, the tremendous bulk of it swinging seamlessly inward. She didn’t exactly pay attention to the others’ reactions, though she clearly heard Zef stand up.
Peering in, she had expected the visage of abandonment, a room that had once been opulent, centuries ago, but now sat full of stale air and in utter disrepair. Instead, she was met by an utterly pristine central chamber. Upon the door’s opening, numerous lightgems on the ceiling came alive, somehow still functional after all these years - doubtlessly charged by the same arcane circuitry keeping the rest of the sect’s lighting operational.
Entirely unlike the hub room, it was… Plain, at least by the sect building’s opulent standards. At a glance, it was obviously built using the same architectural tenets as the rest of the sect, merely sized down and adjusted with consideration for a person actually living and working within on a day to day basis.
Three doors, shelves in the walls, lights on the ceiling, a weirdly shaped writing desk - these were the things that registered before she noticed actual details. Despite the absence of any visible windows, the air within was perfectly fresh.
The room was asymmetrical, vaguely approaching a rectangular shape, with polished, dark stone floor panels, and a ceiling of reflective white stone with arrays of lightgems set into the ceiling panels in a checkerboard pattern. The walls, similarly, were dark stone, with smaller versions of the selfsame pillars seen throughout the sect also made part of the walls, the clear space taken up by shelves holding books and various trinkets.
As for the furniture, the room was obviously equipped to be an office, with a U-shaped writing desk against the wall immediately across from the door and a tall-backed chair behind it, its back turned to her. The desk’s open side faced to the right from her perspective, which led her eye to the three-step staircase that led to one of the three doors out of the room. It had an incredibly complex, but normal-sized seal written in dark-blue ink over the door handle.