Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Sixthmonth, 1634 PTS
Juen Hadal had found himself in a bind. At first, the issue had not been clear, but as his continued efforts to heal over the weeks had been nothing but repeated failures, he had finally realized that the sanguine miasma which remained inside his system was not emerging from hidden unhealed injuries, but was being generated by his own cores.
He had to admit, he had come to regret attacking the sect. After all, it was clear that this must have been the doing of those Reth he had been fighting. All he remembered was that they were getting the upper hand on him, and then suddenly… nothing, until he woke up days later receiving treatment from one of the clan’s spiritual doctors. Had he known there would be so many Reth present, he would have summarily refused to attack them without a much larger force. It was a shame that hindsight was only helpful for self recrimination, now.
The larger question was what he could do now. Flowing from his cerebral core like ink into water, the red threads burned through him, clashing with the green mist inside him and straining his organs. The pain was constant, and if Juen did not have the sturdy body of a perfect genesis physique, he would have died days ago. As he was, he was trapped on the edge of a wire, forced to pay attention to his energies to keep them stable. For a spirit refiner, the task was not too intensive, but it did require constant attention, and he found himself worried of what might happen if he attempted to fight in this condition.
Worse, Juen suspected that if he could not figure out how to purify his core, the sanguine energies would seep into and influence any techniques he performed using it. He would need to fight without using his highly enhanced senses, or risk those around him noticing that something was wrong.
He dared not risk the possibility of them believing he had turned into an unorthodox practitioner. Given the circumstances, he would probably be assisted rather than banishing him from the clan like the clans on Canvas might have done, but it would end any of his hopes of becoming the Heir, and that was something that Juen would not allow. He had put far too much time and effort into this, and it would not end in nothing.
He knew that this was not a secret that could be kept indefinitely. The truth would inevitably get out eventually, but there must be a way to fix this before that happened. Perhaps the clan’s archives might hold information on the topic, he mused. If miasma could taint his path, then there must be a way to restore it, if only he could figure out just how to do it.
His thoughts were interrupted with the slight hiss of the room’s hatch rising, and Juen turned to see the form of Aven walking in.
“Shit,” he muttered, despondent. He knew what Aven’s presence meant. “Is it finally time?”
Aven sighed and nodded.
“You must have expected this.”
Juen groaned, and rubbed his forehead, which had been filled with a splitting migraine ever since he had awoken.
“I did. Is she here, or is it just you?”
His cousin snorted.
“You think she came here just for you? She’s being gracious just by not having you come to her, and wanted me to deliver the message.”
Juen silently rubbed his forehead, already suspecting he knew what his cousin would say. He and Aven couldn’t have been considered close, but they had known one another for all of Juen’s life, and were of the same generation. Their relationship wasn’t bad, but the problem was their positions and their factions. Aven, like the rest of his family, were loyalists, while several of the groups backing Juen were some of the Matriarch’s greatest internal adversaries.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“First of all, she hopes you recover quickly, because you’ll be put to work once you do. Recovering you was expensive, so you’ll have to pay that back.”
Juen blinked. He had expected far more harsh terms, given the circumstances. Had the Matriarch compromised with his backers? That was unlike her.
“That’s it?” he asked. “No problem.”
Aven chuckled.
“Of course not. I’m not done. You messed up, Juen, and in doing so gave your enemies an opportunity. She would probably have pushed even further, too, if she wasn’t still mourning.”
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Ah, thought Juen. He had missed Wei’s funeral, and it had yet to fully register that the man was dead.
“Are you doing okay, yourself?” he asked.
Aven’s gaze wavered, but he nodded.
“Thank you for asking, but I’m fine, Juen. You’re the one who isn’t. You have a mission. The council wishes for you to raid a number of suspected Celan factories.”
Juen sighed again, his headache only continuing to grow. He knew the unspoken rules of the clan. One could get let off for breaking the rules so long as doing so did not cause problems. Had he successfully wiped out the sect and escaped, the punishments would not have been so harsh. He had angered the Matriarch, but he had also provided the merchant faction with an opportunity that they would not miss.
“They’re quite nasty when they want to be,” he muttered.
Aven did not dispute the matter.
“That is all I have for you, for the moment, he said. “I’m sure the dog outside can brief you on further details.”
Juen frowned. Dog? Before he could ask, Aven had already started walking out of the room. Before passing the threshold, however, he turned back for a moment.
“...I hope you return in one piece, cousin. There have been too many funerals in recent days.”
With that, he disappeared around the corner, and a tall form slid in right behind him, before the hatch could slide closed. His was a figure that Juen recognized instantly as a distant relative, originally from one of the less powerful branch families. He had broad eyebrows and a sharp nose, neither of which was a trait common among the clanmembers. His lengthy hair was tied back in a proper manner, and his attitude was clearly displayed by the firm cast of his features. Laoin, head of the Ceirran faction, and the Supreme Elder’s personal disciple.
“It seems every time I act under your orders, I find myself in a place like this. I did as you requested, Laoin, but where’s your sincerity?” asked Juen, not wasting any time.
The older man shrugged.
“We paid off the ransom, and will support you from this point on. Had you succeeded, you might have been able to bargain for more.”
Juen sneered, but had to stop as his headache worsened.
“Who else would you support if not me? Lorelei? Karie? Everyone else is too weak.”
Laoin chuckled, leaning back onto the wall.
“As much as we need you, you also need us. Without us, you have what, a branch family and Sulno?” The last name was spoken with clear disdain. “Regardless, I’m here about your mission. I’m sure the brat told you about it already. Given the pressure, there will be no disputing the matter, but this can also be an opportunity. Lorelei is too weak, and Karie has run to play traitor. If you show that you’re working for the clan’s aims, he is certain that he can make you the heir by the mid-year solstice.”
Juen gritted his teeth, waving her off.
“I’m aware of all that. Tell him that I’ll be there the moment I feel well enough to do so.”
He did not want to hear a word from the Supreme Elder, not when this was all the fault of him listening to that man’s request in the first place.
Laoin’s eyes scoured Juen from top to bottom, before shaking his head.
“You look well enough. You’ll have to move out by the end of the week or matters will get worse for you, regardless of your physical condition. If needed, I can have Tamara look you over.”
Juen hesitated, and then shook his head, waving off the offer.
“I’ll be ready by then, so there’s no need. I just need another day of rest.”
Laoin paused, and then gave a sharp nod.
“See that it is so. I have a file on the details of your mission.”
Juen nodded, and the older man tossed a terminal onto his bed, locking eyes with him as he did so.
“Do not let us down again,” he said, and then made his leave, just like Aven before him. This time, the hatch slid closed behind him, leaving Juen finally alone in his hospital room. With the two important figures gone, he let out a heavy breath, his body relaxing from a tenseness he had not even been aware of.
Secretly, he cursed the Supreme Elder just as much as he did those foul Reth who had done this to him, but Juen was aware of who were his enemies and who were his allies. So long as the truth of his ailment did not leak, he could trust them to support him, at least until the heir had finally been chosen.
That ailment was the worst of his problems, though he could not discount this coming mission, nor any potential further roadblocks left by Lorelei or her supporters.
For a moment, he considered contacting the Redwater Sect for assistance. They had a number of sanguine practitioners, beyond simply the Reth. If anyone on the station knew how to heal him, they might be the best to ask.
The problem was that he lacked leverage. After what he had done, there was no doubt that they hated him. He couldn’t imagine what they would demand from him in return, particularly given the fact that apparently, they had decided to support Karie. If he were to reveal his condition to them, they might simply choose to announce it to all the station.
He sighed again, kneading his brow as he thought desperately, seeking a way to solve the matters plaguing him. It felt as if the walls were closing in, and nobody could be trusted anymore. For a moment, Juen wondered whether this was how Karie felt all this time. It was not a pleasant experience.
Though, he still felt that she had brought it upon herself.
Meridian Purification: [More of a rumor and a legend than a real technique, in many stories even now there is a procedure known as purification, where a martial artist’s meridians are ‘washed clean,’ expelling all miasma, and allowing another type of miasma to enter. In the stories, this was a way to change one’s path, and is often used as a literary device to depict an evil unorthodox character renouncing their ways and becoming an orthodox practitioner. In reality, the technique is widely claimed to be a myth, though rumors of similar techniques existing have continued to spread for centuries.]