Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Sixthmonth, 1634 PTS
Han could feel the flow of the energy inside him as he moved through the forms of the sword art his master had taught him. The Downpour Sect’s founder must have been a true master, he thought. The more he learned about this sword art, the more he realized just how complex it was, and how much insight was needed to practice it.
The Rising Downpour Sword Art seemed to Han to be an art that had reached the pinnacle of perfection. If all went well, his master had informed him, Han would need to alter it, to make it suit his own body more. This was not a flaw in the art itself, but merely the difference between Han and its creator. Perhaps one day Han would create a martial art of this level himself. For now, however, he needed to master what the Riverfiend had assigned him, or the man would not allow him to move on to more advanced applications of the arts.
It had been over a week since he had been released from the brace, his regrown hand supposedly fully functional. Sometimes, Han still felt pain midway down his forearm, in the place where the limb had been severed. This was not his original hand, he knew. There was something wrong about it.
Still, Han remembered well the others, those who had died. Palace Leader Sakie, who had trained him, dead at the hands of a Hadal clansman.
Han gritted his teeth, fueled by rage, by his weakness. He was not comfortable with the state of affairs. His master wanted him to at least reach the peak of the foundation refinement realm before he would be able to go out on missions, and Han was finally nearing that level. The earlier stages did not take long to progress through, not with the resources and proper training that Han had received. His was one of the most privileged positions to learn martial arts that existed in the station, and Han was well aware. He intended to make use of that fact.
Before he finished up his morning training, Han settled into the first stance of the sword art one final time, and raised his foot, feeling the formless energies circulate throughout his newly formed channels. He then slammed his foot down in pattern with the shifting currents in his waist and legs, taking a long stride forward. A pale blue mist spread around him, and then everything fell apart. The line of miasma in his meridians twisted, and Han’s legs seized as they did every time he attempted to practice the water striding steps.
He skidded across the ground, slipping on the wet floor and nearly broke his nose on the wall. Cursing, Han raised his hand to protect himself, bouncing off of the hard surface with a grunt. He felt his nostrils, and was pleased to know that at the very least, there had been no blood.
Han had actually progressed in the technique, and in his best attempt, had managed to activate it for almost ten seconds. The problem, however, was that he could not control his motion. Whenever he used the technique, Han always found himself striding in a random direction, and at very high speeds. There was nothing more odd, in Han’s estimation, than walking, but unable to control which direction one was walking in.
Han heard a snicker to the side, and he turned to glare at Qian, who was glancing away innocently. He scowled at the younger girl, but made no remark. She did not do much better any of the times that she attempted the technique.
He sighed, feeling his ill mood evaporate. It was hard to brood when you had just slammed yourself into a wall in front of somebody. Particularly when that somebody was a girl not much younger than him. His cheeks burned.
The sect leader’s disciples had been granted access to their master’s private meditation room while he wasn’t using it, though they needed to schedule their use times in advance. Himself and Qian had been granted use of it for a bit over an hour in the mornings to practice their techniques and swordplay, as their master believed the rainfall assisted with learning.
The six of them had taken to calling the room ‘Master’s Shower.’ Minus Blake, of course, Han thought. He didn’t seem like a bad person, but it had long become clear that the other boy had little interest in socializing with the others. It did not seem that would be changing any time soon, either.
Comparatively, Qian had changed a lot, he thought. He instinctively wanted to glance at her as the thought crossed his mind, but Han restrained himself. It felt as if he had been seeing new sides of her since they had joined the sect. Perhaps it was just that their relationship had changed. Qian was no longer his friend’s sister, she was now his martial sister, and someone who, as they were learning the same technique and weapon, spent more time with him than anyone else.
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Qian was still moody at times, of course, and he did not expect her occasional arrogant comments to go anywhere, but Han didn’t mind it. That was just Qian being Qian. And sometimes, when they were alone, she seemed… softer, somehow. Setting the thoughts aside, decided he was done with his training for the moment. It didn’t seem as if Qian was practicing anymore, either, so Han decided he might as well dry off.
“End storm,” he said, and the dripping water from above cut off, leaving the pair of young martial artists sopping wet as the water slowly drained from the floor. Han decidedly avoided glancing over at Qian, whose clothes were hugging tightly to her figure.
The remodelled meditation room had been designed with cubbies near the door that would remain dry. Han opened the nearest one and removed a dry towel, before quickly wiping away the worst of the moisture from his sodden form. He would need to take a shower after this, but it was best not to drip water across the sect. Palace Leader Ran tended to be quite particular about such things. Despite the prestige Han bore as a personal disciple of the sect leader, he had learned that the Palace Leaders still all had the authority to assign him additional chores. He had only needed to dust the entirety of the accounting division’s offices once before he learned his lesson.
He grabbed a second one, and tossed it at his martial sister.
“It’s good to see you’re still yourself,” she suddenly said, drawing a raised eyebrow from Han. Finally, he actually turned, and he saw her expression. Qian seemed concerned, and perhaps a little bit conflicted.
“...Who else would I be?” he asked.
Qian hesitated, clearly looking for the right words, but finding them difficult to piece together.
“Ever since… what happened, you’ve been withdrawn. The others noticed as well, but I’m always with you, and…” she hesitated again. It seemed this was difficult to talk about, which Han understood. The events of that day were difficult for him to even recall, much less speak about. Such a conversation was quite unlike Qian, however. Candid was not a word he would generally use to describe her. She was more the type to mask her true feelings with sardonic comments. “And you’ve been training too much, too hard. I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself, or burn out. You’re acting like Blake.”
Even though Han didn’t dislike Blake, the comment still stung. He winced.
“I… You weren’t there, Qian. I came here to become strong, to-” He sighed. “You remember where we came from. I need to get stronger, to impress Master and progress further. I don’t want- I don’t want to feel weak anymore.” The admission seemed to sap the energy from Han’s body, and he hung his head, no longer wiping his body with the towel. “Besides,” he finally continued, “We’re unorthodox practitioners, Qian. If we stall, if we don’t progress, we’ll die. That’s just how it is.”
“It’s not about that,” Han. I’m not complaining about the training. I’ve been here with you every day, and today I waited until you were done before I… You’ve always been the type to rest well after working hard. And you haven’t been doing that. You’re pushing yourself too hard. I’m sure that Master would agree.”
Han opened his mouth to argue, but Qian’s glare silenced him. He had never met a woman with a more scathing glance than Qian’s. No matter what the situation, Han had always felt as if he should apologize for something when he saw that look in her eyes. He sighed.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked.
Qian nodded.
“Everyone’s worried. Even some of the other disciples have noticed.”
Han sighed.
“I suppose I can take the rest of the day off.”
She smiled, and the visible relief and joy seemed to light up the room. For some reason, Qian almost seemed like a different person than she ever had before. Was she always this pretty? Han blushed, and quickly busied himself by toweling off his hair. For a moment, the dark thoughts were gone, and his martial sister was the only thing on his mind.
Triezal: [A dangerous armed fugitive has escaped from the Justice Office, and is currently on the run. All ships leaving the station must be inspected an additional time before leaving the dock. The outlaw is a Merris, and his image is enclosed. All rights granted by Pantheonic Law to sapient life forms have been revoked for this individual, and a five thousand serite bounty is being offered for actionable information about his whereabouts. Failure to report information is considered a crime, punishable by the Justice Office with labor on the Prison Moon and a ten thousand serite bail.]