Threads Of Destiny(Eastern Fantasy, Sequel to Forge of Destiny)

Jia Han stepped regally down the path lain between the sparring circles, listening to the clash and clack of training gear striking against each other. He listened carefully to the patterns of the breathing in the air, separating out each individual sound, listening for deviations from the base of the Six Cloud Method. Good. Good. Within acceptable parameters for heavy exertion. Good. Good….

His instructor's baton whipped out, tapping against a man's diaphragm. "Too shallow! Restart from breath Three!"

"Ye,s Senior Brother!" shouted the outer disciple, both he and his partner in the ring shooting to ramrod stiff attention, ceasing their joined kata immediately. Jia Han gave a single sharp nod, putting them at ease as he passed. The sounds of the resumed exercise echoed resuming from the step that had been misaligned mere moments after he had passed.

They were good juniors, if mostly untalented, but at the Rushing Cloud that was not so terrible a mark as some. Every man who could cultivate had their place in the formation. Their methods were called stiff, mediocre even, holding back the great with the merely average.

Jia Han scoffed at the notion. A truly great man could not be 'held back' by his duty to his comrades, his clan, his society, his nation, these were the things that made one great to begin with. The methods of the Rushing Cloud demanded group cultivation at its lower realms to instill that very virtue.

He inhaled circulating his qi and meager shen through the Diamond Lattice Oven formation, and felt a few more drops of Law coalesce. With every pump of the valves of his heart, he became more aware, more entwined with the pattern of his own circulatory system, imprinting and etching a little more of the work which would be compressed down into his Heart Pearl one day soon.

Forty years old, forming his second pearl. Yes. The methods of his Rushing Cloud were no burden. He circled the trainees again, barking out corrections where they were needed, giving approving nods where he saw a disciple excel. Soon the exercise came to an end, and he dismissed the outer disciples to their cooldown exercises and assigned meditation subjects.

Jia Han left the hall, serene, unruffled to the eyes of the disciples.

But he had his own challenge to face today. Stepping out of the training hall, under the dappled light shining through the canopy of the trees that lined the internal garden of the outer sect barracks, he paused a moment by the side of the pond, observing his reflection. Tall, regal, poised, dark hair swept back in a proper, neat topknot. Idly, he adjusted the straps of his parade plate, fixing a small imperfection in the way it hung from his shoulders.

He was stalling.

Jia Han turned, marching his way to the Core Disciple offices.

Wang Fei waited for him in his office. The big man's head and wild mane of dark hair almost brushed the ceiling, his presence filling the relatively small space even where his broad shoulders did not.

"Han! Heard they had you wrangling outers today! How're the juniors doing?"

"Performing well. There are a few stragglers lagging the curriculum, but their brothers and sisters are ensuring they keep up. I spotted two who I think may be able promoted to officer track at next year's ending exams," Jia Han replied, sidling past, letting the door shut behind him

"Hoh, two in one cadre, not bad, not bad, we won't let those Argent's leave us in the dust too much," Wang Fei laughed, following him over to his desk to lean against the bookshelf beside it. Despite his wild face and hair, Wang Fei's uniform, matching his, was immaculate as well, the variance was… the jade pendant Han had gifted him, five years ago, back when they had entered the core sect together.

It was within regulations. He'd been sure to check them all carefully at the time.

"Yes… Argent Peak is certainly stealing all of the thunder, as usual," Jia Han sighed. Wang Fei raised his eyebrows as Jia Han perched himself on his desktop. It was… rather casual, but it was only the two of them. "Her Grace attended them again this year. The Intersect is certainly called off given the military situation."

"Might be for the best. I doubt our poor juniors would stand up well to all of those ducal talents they've been choking on these past two years," Wang Fei chuckled. "Ah! And the announcement of the horned legion! I've been hearing things through the grapevine, rumors among the senior officers and generals of some realignment. I wasn't expecting such an ambitious project though!"

"Her grace does not undertake unambitious ones," Jia Han agreed, lacing his fingers together over his knee. Palpitation, increase in heart rate, vein circumference widening slightly, a natural reaction, easily controlled. "...And that is not speaking of her other announcement."

Wang Fei didn't laugh this time, didn't crack a grin and belt out a joke. His eyes wandered from Jia Han's. He felt another nervous flutter. "...Yeah, that'll be an uproar. Whose heard of setting aside your spouse just to marry their own matriarch? Like something out of a silly story."

Well, there was the joke, just a little delayed. "As if all who do not have rocks in their head did not already know."

"Oi! Even rock-for-brains like me aren't so blind!" Wang Fei complained. "Do not besmirch the honor of stones!"
Jia Han laughed, he couldn't help it. Fei… Fei was always like that. He could always make him laugh, no matter how high he climbed on his Way.

"We aren't so much less obvious. I know I've caught a junior or two gossiping about the Flowing Spear being the only weapon that can penetrate the Steel Mountain."

Wang Fei's face turned crimson. "...Hoh? Which juniors need to learn a lesson or two? You tell me this instant Han!"

"Have mercy on the poor children," Jia Han chuckled.

He grumbled, and for a moment, there was silence between them.

"What do you think, Fei?"

It was a careful regulation of his airways and nerves, which kept there from being any tremble in his voice.

"Gonna have to be more clear Han, you sound like a court lady fitting my back for a word-knife," Wang Fei joked. It was a bit of a weak one.

"Wang Fei, would you accept my marriage suit? If I went through the proper channels, got the permissions from my parents and clan. Would you accept it?" Jia Hong said, looking up at him, steady, even, controlled.

Five years. For five years they had maintained this tryst, dodged through marriage inquiries on the basis of their active service on the front lines of the wall.

It was a whirlwind, a storm, it had swept him along in its group. But… he wanted to know. Wanted to know if there was more to it than that. With her Grace's… advancement. It wasn't an impossible dream anymore.

Wang Fei looked like he'd seen a ghost, gone pale, the blood drained from his ruddy features.

"Guh."

"Articulate," Jia Han said dryly.

Wang Fei scowled at him thunderously.

"...I'm sorry if that was unwelcome," Jia Han said, lowering his head. "We've spoken… but always in jest. I suppose I wanted…"

"I was working on my gift, ya watery sop," Wang Fei said lowly.
Jia Han's head shot up.

"Didn' figure you to steal a march. You're so upright, I figured you'd wait awhile for the furor to settle," Wang Fei grumped, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest.

Jia Han squeezed his eyes shut and laughed again. "My apologies. Should I wait, and act surprised?"

"No point to that now idiot!" Wang Fei boomed.

He felt the other man's hand clasp his shoulder, warm and heavy.

Jia Han supposed he had more reason than ever to look forward to their victory in the war.

Uphold. Preserve. Maintain.

Amid raging fire, among torrential rain, among breaking bucking earth. Amid Chaos and falling stars the rage of the newborn sun, and the grief of the orphan moon.

Xiangmen Was Not.

A fixed point where such things had not existed. There was no before nor after, only Now. The first blade began its cut.

Xiangmen Was.

The earth boiled, restless in death. Boiling stone and blood of [Enemy] mingled, poison suffused. The fallen sky weighed heavy, weeping, weeping over the slain firmament, endless torrents. Reach out. Roots weave, leaves rustle, and turn. Feel for siblings.

Communion established.

Southern Pillar, Western Pillar, Eastern Pillar, Northern Pillar. Directives?

Uphold the Sky.

Preserve the Children.

Maintain the Earth.

Exchange, debate, and establish axioms. Align axioms. Directives Clear.

Roots sink deep, reverse flow, and establish a web. Drink deep the toxin. Expel in the deep. Give form to the shuddering firmament. Branches high leaves out, shield against the baleful eyes. Receive, filter, expel.

Long work, hard work. Communion lightens the load.

Minimum conditions established. A long journey, a happy day. Stored patterns of children released.

Life bloomed. Directive fulfilled. The weight of earth and sky beckoned, reaching across the emptiness between each other.

Unacceptable. The between was required for the Children.

Life Bloomed. A distant, ticklish concern. Waves of green expanded and receded, rivers welled and dried, and the earth crumpled and rose, spewing ash and fire. Life Bloomed, scrabbled, fought, lived, died.

Ticklish, ticklish things. Life rose, and the Southern Pillar spoke, sometimes with its siblings, of the scampering, buzzing things it sometimes saw, who existed for long enough to see. Idleness was possible only as the task grew lighter, as the poison drained deep, deep beneath, as the Celestial Twins waxed in strength and vigor.

Prickles, prickles. Life growing. Building, breaking, shaping. High enough to tickle the lowest leaves, speaking, speaking, far too fast to hear. Smoke and fire came and went, death and life came and went. New shoots rose from broken stumps.

Sad. It was sad, to see some flickers go. There was beauty in their gleam. The Northern Pillar chided their distraction, but gently so. Western Pillar sympathized and shared their memories in communion. The Eastern Pillar was stern but could not help but share their own. A mighty, mighty tower rising so high, enough to brush its lowest leaves. A monument made in reflection by those beneath its leaves?

The Children were so strange.


It was strange to bleed.

Incorrect. Against directives. Leaves that withered underneath starlight bombardment fell and crumpled, roots too soaked in toxin withered and were severed from the network. Pain. Xiangmen understood this.

It did not understand how such pain could arrive so fast. Cycles of blackening and death had come and gone, come and gone, a million times. Life Bloomed, life died, the flickers came, the flickers went.

How, then did such pain come in an instant? Spikes driven into flesh, blades carved into bark. Sapped, chopped, mined. Leaves plucked and twigs stripped, burned in roaring flame.

It had just begun to ponder these bleeding pinpricks when it felt something incomprehensible.

Eastern Pillar Was Not.

The shock rippled through the communion of pillars. Xiangmen stirred, wakened to such hastiness as it had never before known. The World wailed, and celestial blood fell from the skies. Tides of metal and stone and power clashed like great waves, leaving ruin in their wake.
They did not understand. Out of balance, the distribution disturbed. The Sky sagged, and the earth roiled. Northern Pillar cried out, withering, withering with a more terrifying swiftness than it had in countless eons under the assault of the [Enemy].

Alarum. Their communion shuddered. They called out, called out more stridently than they ever had, calling to the siblings, to Those who Were.

The firmament heaved with a great and terrible fury.

Xiangmen Preserved the Children, as was its directive.

Change was total; change was immediate. The communion was severed, as the one land was severed, split by the twisting sea where the order of their roots did not full reach. Sometimes whispers from the West came, and its own song was answered. The North lived, but no more could be certain.

The East was not and never would be again.

The sky held. The blood of the Enemy remained pooled in the deep.

Xiangmen was.

But the Southern pillar saw the children more clearly. Its world had slowed down, had been made to slow down, even as all traces of its scars faded.

The world moved slower than it once had. But from ash and death, life bloomed. Ice crawled north in a snowy blanket, shoots of green sprouted in ash and rubble. The Children teemed in vale and mountain high.

The ice crawled south, the green bloomed.

One of the Children spoke.

Curious, never before had a Child spoke to them, their communion a frantic buzzing that rushed by too fast to comprehend, even now.

But the Southern Pillar saw the two little children and the teeming crowd at their roots. It understood… in part. Shelter, invoking its nature. Enemies.

This was not the Directive. The Children were to be Preserved. It was not to pick favorites.

And yet.

And yet. The children spoke, and if Xiangmen stretched its bows, dragged the world into painful focus, saw the other children involved…

It was reminded of those who had pierced its bark and stripped its leaves. Taking, taking, voracious eaters all.

Space was made, and that was that. It was hardly an inconvenience.

In time, others came, one of the children lived on and on, remaining under Xiangmens eaves.

Deer. Monkey. Snake. Small things that lasted. One after another.

The dragon. Golden coils winding.

But bound, deeply bound, in chains freely taken. Enough. Enough to follow, to not close off when the next cycle of burning came. To keep the opened spaces. No ambitions for moon and sun, only over blooming Life.

Xiangmen Was.

Century by century, it came to adjust more. Small things. Food, shelter, clean water. The Children needed so little to thrive. Turmoil came. Turmoil went, in the flashes between moments. Groves burned, groves grew. Slowly, slowly things began to grow strange again. Bellies yearned, yawning with hunger, never sated despite its increase to nutrition. The children were in a growth swing perhaps, spawning and multiplying.

The request for expanded nests never came. Every so often, Xiangmen would make new nests regardless, just to quell the itching.

But the itching grew, the itching grew. And when fire came again, it brought with it a child. Another child who spoke.

Who made them see.

The Children were strange. What would bring one to deny bounty freely given, to refuse prosperity gifted costless.

Nonsensical. Life was to preserve life, to reproduce and multiply.

None benefitted from this.

When its body was pierced, when its twigs were carved, long ago, it noticed but slowly. The young life, the new life it had never allowed. Only what was given, channels and pieces grown and gifted, a thousand thousand wards to defend the peace.

They ceased, one and all. What was freely given was freely taken.

And as the bright speck shown through canopies and roots alike, a faint malaise even it had not noticed burned away with it.

…The Children were strange.