Tantra breaths heavily on a field of porcelain grass, bruised, beaten, and staring at a sky of a vibrant crimson. The clouds have vessels running through them, connecting each in a grand web as they drizzle blood onto pulsating flesh.

  The sun is not a sun, truthfully she doesn’t know what it is, shaped like a splayed hand with seven fingers. It radiates a purple light, cushioning the world with the soft embrace of life as it tugs ever so gently on her soul. It is so much grander than life though, so much grander than sustenance, it gives purpose and it burns

  “Five years and you’ve barely made any progress at all,” a familiar voice sighs, “have you even been trying to learn the kanabō? Or have you just been swinging it around hoping it does something?”

  Tantra lets out a huff of air that sounds like the blaze of a flame and the flow of blood all at once, strange dream logic warping her voice into something ethereal.

  “I’d be better at it if you didn’t die.”

  “Yeah? Tough shit. That’s life and you’ve just gotta roll with the punches, adapt and evolve, all the fancy crap the elders might wax poetic over,” Says the man of blurry features as he extends a hand, “you’ve been relying too much on that fancy boosting of yours, which while impressive, won’t mean shit against the real threats.”

  “Yeah,” Tantra sighs, grabbing his hand and pulling herself off the ground, “I’ve been trying…it’s just hard to implement in the heat of the moment. Like everything I’ve learned gets overwritten by brute force”

  “Ah, the combat fugue, how nostalgic,” Tantra can’t tell, but she thinks he’s smiling, “been through that myself, though not for as long as you have, hard to focus when you’re bleeding eh?”

  “Yeah,” she sighs.

  “Well, let me be the first to tell you that path doesn’t lead to good outcomes, your Qi’s already stellar, start focusing on your technique. Otherwise you’ll find those below you with proper martial prowess capable of beating you.”

  “Even with my dao?”

  “Dao’s are the truths of reality kid, not weapons, no matter how much some bubblefucks might try to convince otherwise. You think the dao of the heart of all things is meant to kill? Your vision’s too narrow, sure it harmonizes with your technique nicely but there’s so much you need to consider to develop a dao.”

  Tantra considers that as she stares at the strange purple hand in place of a sun. It almost feels like it has personality, like it’s trying to express itself in a way that only Tantra should be capable of interpreting, if she had more time to learn its language.

  But she doesn’t have time learn, or dream, or train-

  “Relax,” the man says, “it’s not like a few hours of rest will do you any harm, besides, you’ve got that noble girl in case anything happens.”

  “She can’t fight,”

  “But she can wake you up,” the man points out, “c’mon, it’s been ages! Too good to shoot the shit with your old mentor?”

  “You’re not him,” Tantra sighs, “just a figment in my brain.”

  “The worlds a mysterious place,” the man with the indistinct face says, “maybe I’m a ghost, I heard that’s all the rage with the commoners these days.”

  “Five years after your death?” Tantra snorts, “only the wraiths of the DarkWoods could last that long.”

  “Humor me,” he shrugs, “let's say I was the real Rakan, would you really wanna pass up a conversation just because it’s a dream?”

  “I can’t even see your face,” Tantra whispers.

  “Yeah well, memory does that, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t this tall either, or my voice this scratchy,” He hums a bit, “damn, I sound like I smoke from a pipe on the daily, and had mortal vocal chords, is this really how you remember me?”

  “You just said…nevermind, what do you want?”

  “Cold,” he nods, “but pragmatic, good, you’re gonna need that.”

  Tantra just shrugs…she can’t force herself to leave the dream, not like last time, something’s holding her back. She stares at a small pool of blood that’s made its way to her feet, all the crimson rain slowly dragging itself off the floor to her as the epicenter.

  “You need to learn infusion, kid,” the man says, “and you need to learn it fast, that dao and my club can only take you so far against beings like Resai, and in the four days you’ve been pumping that heart of yours you’ve got what? A minute of boosting?”

  “If I have to fight Resai I’ll just end up dead, I can barely even follow her movements.”

  “Kid,” the man shakes his head and sighs, “you haven’t even realised have you? You’ve reached the plateau when it comes to speed with that soul Qi of yours, can’t get much faster, you could fight that woman (though yes you’d more than likely die), you just can’t hurt her”

  Tantra scrunches her brow, “that doesn’t sound right at all, she likely has decades of cultivation on me, how can I be just as fast as her?”

  “Just as fast when using soul Qi,” Rakan corrects, “important distinction, and, If I were to guess, it’d be because of how your dao harmonizes with your technique. Little unfair, even I hadn’t reached the plateau, and I was almost two decades older than you are now.”

  “Still, she’s too strong, she burst a man with her fist.”

  “Then don’t get hit,” the man shrugs and Tantra scowls at him, “don’t look at me like that, that’s the only legitimate solution I can think of.”

  “Very helpful,” Tantra says dryly.

  “Hey, I’m a ghost, cut me some slack.”

  “Fine,” Tantra huffs, “now is that everything? I really do need to go.”

  The man sighs, “fine, fine, get on back to the horror. Just one last piece of advice, don’t use your soul Qi until you really need it”

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  Tantra nods slowly and disappears.

  Rakan stares at where his student stood with a kind of somber sadness, then turns to the figure behind him, it looks a lot like Tantra, if Tantra’s veins glowed.

  “Funny,” Rakan says, “who’d of thought I’d actually get to meet a second dao, considering I’m dead and all.”

  “Meeting me isn’t a good thing Rakan,” HEART says with the thrum of blood, “you weren’t supposed to say a lot of what you said.”

  “She’s my student,” Rakan shrugs, “what kind of mentor would I be if I didn’t take a few risks?”

  -

  Tantra doesn’t recognize these streets, how could she in the face of so much devastation?

  She knows she’s in central Ralth, she has to be, but it feels like a whole different city with all the debris and dried blood. She can see the Sentinels pagoda from here, which wouldn’t normally be possible with all the infrastructure blocking the view. Now that infrastructure is destroyed, water washes away blood as the aqueduct’s offerings spill onto cobble.

  It’s not enough, but it helps.

  There are more than a few pyres lighting the night, each with their bodies to burn, Tantra and Synthia walk amongst them, going one by one asking for a group of cultivators in purple robes with green as their secondary. They get a lot of confused looks, what would two commoners have need for cultivators after all? But they answer all the same, apparently too tired to really care.

  No luck, no luck at all.

  “Tantra,” Synthia says softly, “maybe we should wait for them in the slums?”

  “You think they’re dead,” Tantra accuses, not bothering to look at the woman.

  “There are hundreds of pyres,” Synthia says, “it would take weeks to search through all of them, and if they were alive they’d already be headed there anyway, we could hire one of the gangs to search for them.”

  “I know Yorin,” Tantra says, “if he were to see this sight he wouldn’t just leave, he’d stay and help, until each and every body were given its rites.”

  “That won’t take long,” Synthia reasons, “perhaps we’ll get there first but we’ll be making progress…this is a risk Tantra, there are too many cultivators here, what if they recognize us?”

  Synthia whispers out that last part, and Tantra can’t even be mad at the woman for her logic. Cultivators walk between the pyres like morbid voyeurs, each sect having groups to witness the wreckage, she’s even recognized a handful from the arena.

  Surprisingly they haven’t started fighting, Tantra wouldn’t have expected that kind of restraint from cultivators, but she’s amenable to pleasant surprises. It won’t stay long like this, but for just a moment there is a shared kind of horror, one that demands peace for at least a little while.

  “I can’t abandon them,” Tantra hisses quietly, “Yorin is the only one who can fight right now, and I could kill him easily with my dao. Imagine what would happen if he faced something beyond him?”

  “How likely is it that you’ll even find them like this? Think Tantra, compared to going to our agreed destination, what are the chances you’d find them amongst all this indistinct wreckage?”

  “But they could die,” Tantra says softly, “things are peaceful now, but they won’t be soon, and I can’t help them if I’m not with them.”

  Synthia puts a hand on Tantra’s shoulder and squeezes lightly, it does nothing against her muscle but she understands the gesture. This is a losing argument, and not for Synthia, everything she’s saying makes sense.

  They can’t scour through all of the destruction searching for them, can’t afford to in the first place. Realistically they’re safer without her and Synthia, considering it wouldn’t take a keen eye to see past the commoners robes they’ve donned as a disguise, Synthia’s face is too clean and Tantra’s scars too distinct.

  There’s a limit to how long they have before they are hunted down, and spending time here strains that limit to its breaking point, in the end all Tantra will achieve is getting the both of them killed rather than finding her friends.

  “Okay,” Tantra sighs, “okay, let’s…let’s go.”

  -

  Collective horror can only hold back the inevitable for so long, cultivators are beings of violence, and to hold them back from their purpose is a test in futility.

  Still, Yorin expected them to at least wait for sunrise.

  He watches with a critical eye as two groups of dozens use the pyres light as a guide for their strikes. It started with something stupid, some insult or another that Yorin couldn’t be bothered to remember, and escalated into this. Most of the commoners left once the fighting started, but there are a few who keep throwing bodies into the fire with a tired kind of determination, and Yorin refuses to leave them helpless.

  Even if he couldn’t really be expected to hold off this number alone, he’d at least die proud, which is more that can be said for these fools. Truthfully only a few standout, with most having sloppy techniques (both Qi and otherwise) or a lacking cultivation base, fresh out of foundations as it were.

  There’s a few Yorin thinks might still be mortal, if only for their age and how viciously they are protected. He’s surprised by how lacking they all are, even the standouts, is this how most cultivators look when they fight? Has his vision been obscured by watching Tantra’s matches in the arena? This is just disappointing.

  Yes, he is critiquing their fighting, because otherwise he’d be too angry to think straight. So much suffering, so much death, and these fools want to add more?!?

  Well, they won’t reach the pyre, not unless they step over his corpse.

  So it is that Yorin stares at the fighting of fools when something unexpected happens.

  “They are quite lacking aren’t they?” says someone familiar, “so much resources for such lacklustre results, honestly, it’s a crying shame I tell you.”

  Yorin does not jump, does not let even an inch of surprise color his features as he turns slowly to a giant of crimson robes and hair. She’s different than when he last saw her, injured sure, but almost glowing with vitality.

  She stares at Yorin with the smile of something more bestial than human.

  “Indeed, honoured elder,” Yorin says carefully, channeling his inner Tantra, only to earn a roll of the eyes.

  “Please, if I wanted to eat you I would’ve just done it,” Resai says, “no, I’m just here for a conversation, and you seem interesting enough to share words with.”

  “A conversation?” Yorin says slowly, “forgiveness, but what could you possibly find interesting in this humble junior.”

  “Who knows!” Resai exclaims, “that’s the fun of it all, wisdom can be found in the strangest places, and I’m not something so grand that I can ignore wisdom when it calls.”

  “I am nothing wise senior,”

  “Sure you are!” She says, “Everybody is, in their own special little ways, all trying to navigate the world's cruelty with something so banal as personal logic.”

  “The world isn’t so cruel,” Yorin whispers despite himself.

  It’s clear the woman heard, because her smile immediately turns flat, like her brain simply can’t parse the words. Then Yorin can feel her Qi, like teeth digging into his skin, it’s so strong that he takes an unconscious step back as Resai continues to stare with crimson eyes.

  For a moment Yorin is sure he is going to die, so overwhelmed by the presence of this monster that it seems to be the only logical conclusion. She is teeth and stars and-

  Then it abates, and the woman returns to her smiling as though nothing had happened.

  “That’s an interesting opinion boy, but I’m pretty sure all the corpses would beg to differ.”

  “There is cruelty,” Yorin gathers himself as he stares at the woman, “but for hundreds of years this place was peaceful, this is only a moment in its history, and to judge it based on just this moment isn’t fair.”

  “Ah, an optimist,” Resai says as she pats Yorin on the shoulder, “I was like that too once upon a time, used to see everything so beautifully, was into poems even. Don’t write anymore ‘cause it would just be depressing, needless to say if you live long enough life will disabuse of any notion of kindness.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Yorin says frankly.

  Resai blinks, then barks a laugh, “that’s more like it kid!”

  “Thanks?”

  “No problem, it’s a sacred duty to give my juniors some balls,” she nods, “well, it was fun. I have this nagging feeling we’ll see each other again little Yorin, we’ll see if your opinion’s changed at all before then.”

  Then, with a burst of motion, she is gone.

  Yorin blinks,

  When did he tell her his name?