Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS
Everyone had moved into the large training room, but the atmosphere was far more somber than the usual cheerful air. Everyone’s mind had returned to the events just a few days prior. Han was no different, and found his thoughts filled with memories of the event.
Han had been able to return much quicker than he had anticipated, due to a heavy metal machine covering the entirety of his lower forearm, slowly regrowing the flesh and bone that had been damaged. It was secured firmly to his chest by a strap for ease of carrying, though it was not so heavy that the strap was strictly necessary, in his estimation.
Han and the other injured were some of the final arrivals, and he ended up at the back of the room, accompanied only by Qian, who had happened to be nearby when he returned to the sect. They had decided to enter the memorial service together, as a result of the coincidence.
As they packed into the room, Han randomly saw Sashan in the crowd, and for a moment their eyes locked together. She glanced down to his chest and saw his injury, before quickly averting her gaze. Han did not condemn her for not helping him back then, though he suspected she was not aware of this fact. She had been right. They were simply not strong enough yet. If she had joined him, more likely than not she would have been injured as well, or perhaps even dead. As the proverb went, weakness itself was surely a sin. Han himself had come to understand that fact more than ever.
He, along with the others injured in the attack had only been brought back to the sect with an expedited release from the hospital due to their desires to participate in the memorial service for those who had been lost. Han had been one of those who made the request to return for the event. He had been very down after awakening, but the Sect Leader had helped him to shift his mindset. He hoped that the others might have a similar experience after witnessing the memorial, able to put the experience and the losses behind them and move forward.
Despite being at the far end of the room, Han actually had a good view of what was going on in the front of the room, where the stage rested. On a table before the uplifted stage were a series of metal containers, inscribed with the names and images of the deceased whose remains resided within. Each of the urns was handcrafted, and composed of an affordable metal alloy. It did not matter the material composing the urn, so long as it was sturdy and clean. Though there had been a total of fourteen deaths, the table only held nine containers. Apparently, Han had heard, the families of the other five had requested their remains to be returned to them, and the sect had willingly complied.
The service was being held in the style of the Crucible, which did not surprise many of the participants. They were an unorthodox force whose founder had spent most of his life in that land. Many of the members had heritage going back to the continent, so there were few complaints.
After the disciples and other members of the sect finished filing into the room, the Elders and the Palace Leaders slowly walked onto the stage, their white robes providing a set of uniformity to the procession. At their head marched the Sect Leader, his trademark crimson robes marking his identity even to those at the furthest areas of the room. Another day, there might have been murmurs and quiet conversations among the attendants due to the respect and idolization the sect members had for him, but today the room was near silent as they made their way to the center of the stage and stood somberly before the group. The Riverfiend glanced down at the bodies of the fallen before peering out to address the crowd. In the moments before he spoke, the room was filled with an utter silence unbefitting for the number of people inside.
“As most of you might have noticed, there are nine urns standing here. Each of them houses one of our brothers or sisters lost far before their time. They are here with us because they had nowhere to go. I understand that the same is true for many of you. These are people who are here because they wished to build a new future, a new life for themselves. A new family,” he said, his voice going soft for a moment. He then paused, giving time for his words to wash out over the crowd before he returned to speaking. “They were heroes,” he continued, “Cinto and the others who died, everyone who fought against those zealots who attacked us.” The Sect Leader had a firm, dignified expression on his face as his eyes scoured the crowd.
“When you all decided to join this force,” he continued, “you made a bold choice. The choice to spurn handouts and grasp your future with your own hands.” As he spoke, he raised his left arm and clenched it into a tight fist. Almost subconsciously, Han found himself doing the same.
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“The unorthodox path is difficult but rewarding, and this sect prides itself on merit. Anyone with the necessary skills can achieve greatness. This is what the Hadal Clan fears, and also what Palace Leader Cinto died to protect. You are our future, and you are also the future of Tseludia. Your potential is unmatched. We shall not be disheartened by this loss, for this is not what they would have wanted. We will be strong, and we will use this opportunity to inspire ourselves to grow stronger! To turn this force into one others will fear to attack! We are a force constructed from those this alien society has neglected, and we will not allow it to fall.”
There was a long pause after the Sect Leader’s words, as if the crowd was waiting for him to speak further. Han was one of the first to clap, and he almost forgot what sort of event this was as clapping filled the room. It took over a minute for the noises to cease prior to his master finally continuing.
“But these words are for us to consider later, in the days to come. Soon we will honor the dead in the ways that we live our lives, but first we will honor them with our memories. Those who wish to speak for the dead may come up and do so.”
Leaving it at that, the famous Riverfiend stepped back with a solemn expression, and left the fore area of the stage open for others. This time, the pause was much shorter, as Palace Leader Kein soon stepped forward to speak on behalf of the deceased Palace Leader Cinto.
As he spoke, rather than paying attention the story he told, Han could not help but think of how the Palace Leader, too, was once heavily injured in a battle. Unlike Han, however, his injuries could not be fully treated, and he was left as a cripple, a mortal incapable of martial arts. Han could imagine how that must have felt, as he had anxiously worried the same fate might have been his, after receiving his own wound. Han still could not fully wrap his head around just how generous his master had been in paying for his extremely expensive wound treatment.
The others had been kind as well. His fellow disciples had all taken the time to visit him in the hospital. Even Blake had tagged along, though Qian had stayed the longest. That was natural, he thought. The two of them had grown closer during their time in the sect, but they had known one another for over a decade. She had invited her brother Tai for a visit as well. Though it had only been a month, to Han it felt almost as if years had gone by since he had last seen this best friend of his. So much had changed for him in that time. His conversation with Tai was short, but it had made him realize just how much had shifted inside of him unknowingly. In this short time, the Redwater Sect had become his home. His goals were no longer merely about reaching further with his own hands to improve his life. At some point, the sect had become something more than just a stepping stone.
If this were to ever happen again, Han would take a stand just like he had done before. Except next time, events would turn out differently than how they had. His master had made it clear- he believed in Han, believed he had great potential. Han would not let down his expectations.
Han’s mind flashed back to his hospital room, when Tai had visited him. Growing up, Tai had always been the larger of the two, the more naturally talented fighter because of it. Now, when Han had seen him, he could only reflect on how weak his old friend seemed. It was the power of miasma. In just a month, he had already reached a level attainable only by the most talented of mortals, without technological assistance.
Similarly, Han himself was like a flea before the true masters of martial arts. He felt his ambition welling, that drive that had burgeoned within him ever since he had first found the flier detailing the information about the sect’s entry examination.
As others began to speak further, telling tales in the memory of the deceased, Han quietly slipped out, noticed only by Qian and the ever-watchful gaze of the Vice-Sect Leader. This was not where he needed to be. He had spent the last few days resting, and was in dire need of some exercise and practice, lest his skills dull. The sect was a new life for Han, and it might not be around forever. He could not be lax in his efforts.
As he left, something flashed in Qian’s eyes, but Han did not notice, his eyes fixated solely on the path forward.
Traditional Seiyal Funeral Practices of the Crucible: [As the Crucible was a continent dominated by unorthodox forces, the influence of the Ceirran religion was not substantial until Sunlit Hall’s first crusade. Though scattered groups worshiped Toval, Domines, and Saaya, the region was largely secular, though it had spiritual traditions nonetheless. Perhaps as a trace left by the farsei’s origins, the Seiyal inhabitants of the Crucible retained the tradition of cremation, but unlike their sei counterparts, they believed that rather than returning them to nature, it was best to inter their remains within a decorated urn, which would be held by the family of the deceased. The urns were said to bring fortune to the family, and in large clans and sects, entire buildings were constructed to contain them over time. During invasions, Sunlit Hall would often prioritize destroying the mausoleum because of this, in order to reduce morale.]