One of the sleeves to Kasri’s robes was a complete mess. It had caught on something a few hours ago and split at the seam, coming undone from cuff to shoulder in one clean rip. That alone wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d had time to sew it up, but he was only ten minutes away from being forced into the festival’s heart. He could feel the command on his soul growing weaker, but its power didn't simply disappear. It was funneled into another command.
Attend the festivities, it said. Kasri had planned on attending either way, but it was unsettling to learn that the same command that had forced him out would reel him back in. He chewed on his last piece of dried demonfish as he watched the brightly coloured procession of cultivators march into the freshly raised extravagant buildings of the sect’s welcoming ground, all bearing symbols of one sect or another.
“Strange seeing something so pristine after all this time.” Kasri chuckled bitterly from his perch atop a tall rock. He knew the cultivators could see him, but if one of them was going to kill him, they’d do it whenever they got a chance. It didn’t matter if they were in a crowd or if they threw a technique from their carriage window.
He shuddered at the aftertaste of demonfish and brushed his hands off on his thighs, preparing himself for whatever he was about to walk into. He’d barely seen any of it last year, so he might as well enjoy himself if he was being forced to be there. It looked pleasant enough, but looks were almost always deceiving. Especially for cultivators.
Kasri stood on his rock for a few more minutes until the compulsion in his chest changed completely. It now burned with the order to enter the festivities. He shook his head and squinted as a red splotch appeared off in the distance, which moved when he moved and pointed him towards one exact location.
“Well, that’s the cue.” He stretched his arms and slid down the rock’s steep, slick incline. Not daring to set foot in the path of the cultivators’ entry parade, he made his way around the festival grounds. Other low ranking grey-robed sect members scurried about making last minute preparations here and there, but they were alone. The festivities were limited to the grounds the sect had laid out, and none of the visitors had any desire to step outside of those boundaries.
Far too soon, Kasri found himself before the source of the red splotch. He raised an eyebrow and pressed his hand against a stone door that belonged to one of the only buildings around that didn’t look newly built–a rectangular stone keep that was cold to the touch and audibly thrummed with chi. His compulsion had led him there, and now screamed for him to enter the building. The door rang with a hollow note as he lifted his hand to knock.
It swung open to reveal the man that had put the compulsion on Kasri one year ago. He was a strong-built man with a stern face bordered by thin, well-oiled facial hair and an expression that spoke of a life spent looking down on people. He blankly recognized that someone stood in front of him, then motioned for Kasri to follow.
“I didn’t expect to see you again.” The man stated emotionlessly. “Did I give you those robes last year? No, no, I didn’t. You must have scavenged them from a less fortunate disciple. Very resourceful of you, little scavenger.”
Light poured down from a high ceiling, dousing the inside in a glow that made Kasri want to shut his eyes for the sanctity of darkness. Yet it didn’t actually hurt him; his eyes could see through the gleam just fine. It was all in his head.
A strange thing to have for a fairly boring building. It was all light coloured stone decorated with bright and vivid murals of deeds Kasri couldn’t make out. They were so stylized that he could barely make out a human in profile, with two sticks for arms reaching out to hold open the jaws of a creature that could’ve been a snake or a coiling dragon. Or an eel. Or a long cat. Or… well… anything, really.
“Sit there.” The man pointed to a chair that looked strangely comfortable for the primitive building. “You will be fitted for a new robe, then given short access to a personal bath to clean yourself. An attendant will make you presentable for our guests. Do not resist them. Once you are finished, you will be escorted to the festival grounds where you will be given temporary freedom.”
Kasri nodded and sank down into the chair. He looked up at the man, who looked back at him, face unchanging as he just stood there unmoving. Did he want Kasri to respond? Or was he waiting for anything so he could dole out punishment?
“I understand, elder.” Kasri bowed awkwardly from his seat.
The man’s face didn’t change, yet his posture stiffened ever so slightly. “This is your one chance to prove yourself. From the weight of your soul, you have just turned eighteen. You have two years. Do not squander it, scavenger.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Without another word, the man turned on his heel and left. His footsteps made no sound on the stone floor, and his departure carried with it the removal of the red splotch from Kasri’s vision.
But that didn’t explain the gravity in the man’s voice. He’d said two years as if it were the end of time, not when the sect would release Kasri to the outside world. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he pressed his hands together in his failed cultivation form to try and calm himself.
“Two more years. Then I get to leave.” He said shakily. “I just have to survive until then.”
Wooden sandals clacked against stone floors. It brought Kasri’s attention to a new figure who’d just entered the room, who’s body was shrouded under a flowing robe with a face hidden behind a grey mask with two simple openings for eyes. Golden brown eyes that shone with mocking laughter as they took in Kasri’s ragged robes.
“Now, now, that won’t do. Our guests expect so much better than that.” The figure tutted, their voice so androgynous and unplaceable that Kasri couldn’t make out who they were behind the mask. “Place your shoulders against the back of the chair and spread your legs slightly. Oh, and make sure you have your back pressed against as much of the chair as your spine allows.”
Kasri did as the masked figure asked, feeling the chair cool ever so slightly wherever his body touched. “Is this good?”
The masked figure nodded. “Very good, yes. Stay still for thirty seconds, then leave my presence.”
Kasri shifted uncomfortably as the cold worked its way through his body, filling in from his shoulders all the way down to his toes. It felt as if he was being dipped in freezing water, but the moment he was completely submerged, the cold vanished without a trace.
“Leave.” The masked figure waved Kasri off.
“...Okay.” Kasri slowly pushed himself out of the chair, feeling slightly weaker than he had when he sat down. “What did you just do to me?”
The masked figure giggled lightly, then gestured down at the chair. Kasri turned to see a ghostly outline of his body, save for the simple fact that it was stark naked. He stared at himself in disbelief for a moment, then turned to the masked figure who cackled with amusement
“Did you take out my soul?”
“No, no; that would be very counterproductive. That would be very bad for the buy–recruiters. In truth, you won’t feel any negative effects a mere half hour from now. I need a model to ensure your robes fit perfectly, and now you will prepare yourself while I prepare your garments.”
Kasri’s ghostly duplicate stood stiffly, like a puppet with stick limbs and a fused back. The masked figure tapped it on the forehead, which left behind a fingerprint of grey stone. The duplicate shuddered and took on a darker grey tint, as if it too had turned to stone, and the masked figure placed a measuring tape to it that they’d pulled from nowhere.
“Go on. I’m not going to do anything indecent.” The masked figure snipped.
From where their hands lingered, Kasri doubted it. He shuddered and turned to walk to where the baths had been pointed out, trying to put the masked figure’s curious coos out of his mind.
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Fully refreshed, freshly shaven, and with a well-fitting robe of his own, Kasri felt like a new man. He flexed his fingers, the scars from the demonfish still white and obvious against his skin. They wouldn’t heal for a long time, if ever, but he didn’t mind. His entire body was marred with scars like them, and they reminded him why he was here. No matter how the stern man had acted this year, he’d doomed Kasri to three years of torment.
“Don’t trust them. You can only trust yourself.” Kasri ran his hands along the robe to feel for any hidden enchantments or pockets. It felt like a fully restored version of what he’d worn for a year, and nothing more. “No matter how comfortable the clothes they give you are.”
The barber had been there to greet him when he left the baths, but he hadn’t seen anyone since. His robe had been placed on a mannequin in the room he’d initially sat down in, along with instructions written on a grey card outlined in bright red filigree.
He pulled it out of his robe’s inner pocket and double-checked it to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood anything. “Once you are fully dressed, make your way along the red markings to the second floor. Do not touch any walls, never have both feet removed from the ground at once, and do not attempt to cultivate or collect this building’s chi.”
No warnings on what would happen if he broke any of the rules, but Kasri had seen what happened to rule breakers. Death was the ultimate threat.
Kasri shuddered and pocketed the card, then set to following the path. The red marks were large and obvious, leading away from anywhere he’d already been. He walked at a normal pace, without any risk of having both of his feet off the ground, and placed himself in the middle of the hallway as far away from both walls as possible.
“Why do they need me to do this?” Kasri glanced around at all the murals that adorned the walls. They seemed to get a little more understandable as he walked, going from stylized approximations to poorly painted scenes of triumph. By the time he found the stairs, he could almost recognize the robes of a cultivator standing at the ready against a man-sized rabbit.
A cool draft blew past Kasri’s right ear. On it he heard nonsensical ramblings akin to a toddler’s babbles converted into actual words. He brushed away the specter that had tried to siphon away his chi with a frown of annoyance; he couldn’t even access whatever he had, and he definitely wasn’t going to give it up to a mindless ghost the size of his forearm.
The specter huffed in indignation, then continued down the stairs while rambling to itself. Kasri stared at it as it went, leaving a small trail of smoky purple that dissipated into chi within seconds.
“Uh, sorry?” He called down after it, unsure what he was supposed to do in this situation. He’d never offended a ghost before. “I didn’t realize you were sentient.”
A stream of ramblings that sounded like acceptance and forgiveness flowed past Kasri’s ears, only serving to confuse him even more. He shook his head and turned once again, stepping onto the top step as a wall of chi washed over him.
Four people turned to look at him, all dressed in vividly coloured robes accented with one precious material or another. Along with them he saw a handful of people he knew in passing from the sect’s wilds, all cleaned up and standing nervously in a group before the cultivators.