Chapter Nineteen
Dawn was at her bestie’s side when he awoke a few hours later. “Hey there, old timer.”
Her voice was soft, and Artorian blinked as he saw the sky he remembered falling asleep under… sort of. A few things had happened in between. Was there any chance that had just been a bad dream?
He needed help sitting up, though his cultivation was already rolling. The academic felt less hot, though drained in nearly every sense of the word. He needed days of sleep, tables of food, and… he groaned loudly as he checked. Years of cultivation just to recover. Again. At least it would be faster this time. His poor children. No! They had survived this long, and he wouldn’t fail them by dying from rushing their captors too early. They would need to survive a little longer, no matter how terrible he felt about that fact.
“My dear?” His words were so weak he didn’t believe they came from him, even if he heard them. His voice was in an awful state. Celestials above, it hurt to speak! His memory was foggy and his Essence stores were pathetic. He wasn’t alone, and that counted for a lot. Dawn anticipated his needs, because a water cup easily made it into his hands, followed by a piece of… bear meat? Artorian smiled. She was making a joke. Still the same old Fire Soul he knew from the grove.
He drank water, and ate the actual food she’d gotten together. Yet the entire time he was with her, she looked sad. It was pending news, and it would have to wait until his risk of death was eliminated. A good meal went a long way to accomplish that while his passive cultivation gulped starlight Essence faster than his mouth could accept food.
When his Presence flicked into activity, the soothing waves of healing that ran over the insides of his rasped throat did wonders for his speaking and food swallowing ability. It might be a shame; he was tolerable when quiet! “Get it off your chest, my dear.”
He smiled at her, knowing she was holding back bad news for his sake. Dawn carefully drew some air, thankful that at least there was no need to repeat what happened underground. Her hands slowly slid over his, and Artorian supportively held her. “You made me landowner.”
“I recall.” Artorian nodded sagely, face breaking into a burdened smile. His hand motioned all around, even though all there was to see over the ridge was devastation. “You could have it all. My empire of dirt.”
He wiggled his sandals. “I’m actually surprised my feet aren’t making me rush out, though I do feel the discomfort, the push, and the unwelcome nature. Nothing might be driving me out for some reason, but I most certainly abandoned my duty here. The land wants me to go, even if it can’t enforce it. Your doing?”
She returned his quiet nod, though her frown spoke volumes. “I take it… something happened, and you can’t come with me.”
Her lower jaw trembled, and she nodded again. She didn’t, or couldn’t speak right now. Her power would rampage, and even if she had that under control, she wouldn’t have known what to say. She’d messed up badly down there. He patted her hand with a loving smile.
“Nothing we can’t get around. Tell me every detail when you feel better. Later. Why don’t we just sit together for now. Just for a bit? It’s a lovely view with plenty of sun. I could use some sun, and it would be a terrible thing to waste.”
Dawn moved a finger to his shoulder and carefully pushed him. A quick nudge was too much. This would do. Her friend opened his arms wide. “You think I'm going to let you be sad that you can’t make excessive movements? If you can’t, don’t! I’ll hold you.”
She frowned at the thought of an S-ranker being held, but was already altering her density to be a weight that wouldn’t pulverize him if she slipped. Wordlessly, she curled into his arms and nestled her face into the side of his inner robe. The outer one was missing, but it had perished to a good cause. She didn’t mind being held, and could actually hear it when Artorian turned on his cultivation technique. It made music. Like a kalimba. She’d never known it to make music.
The starlight Essence that had been flooding in before rushed through his being as if a levy had been opened on a massive dam. It only increased the volume of calming sounds that Dawn heard, and she adored it. Just a few minutes. This was fine, for just a few minutes.
Artorian said nothing when she fell asleep. No amount of physical or Essence power to shape the universe changed how taxing some experiences were on the mind. Physically, he doubted she’d ever know harm again. Mentally, touchier subject. However, she wasn’t alone. He’d find a way to assure that even if they couldn’t remain in the same place. He thought about it as his own thoughts descended into his Center.
If there was one good thing about a solidified C-ranked cultivation technique, it was the Essence draw and refinement speed. His reserves were back into the mid D-ranks within minutes of active cultivation. He was absolutely going to need to invest in techniques. This kind of Essence loss was exactly the thing he’d told himself on his bed in the Fringe that he shouldn’t be doing. He sighed and got cozy, scratching his head at one particularly extra red containment ring. Survival came at a cost. It was going to take him an extra… ten years to lance all of that away.
He had the time. It would be fine. A little cultivation, and he’d get his things together for one last descent down the mountain. It felt awful to be on it. Maybe less so to be off it, yet nearby? Worth a try. When able, he planned to go and find his students. For now, it was cultivation time!
Blanket was tired by the time night fell. The sugar glider had stood watch until then, when the first of the stirring students woke up. Many piles of black sand lay strewn all over the floor of their surprisingly safe little hole in the wall. The tubular metal cave had held through earthquakes, explosions, vast torrents of air movement, and sounds that would make a grown man not want to look outside. The beast mewled at Jiivra when she woke up, pouncing her into the ground.
“Morn—huhg!” Tackled into the dirt, Astrea woke up in mid-air as Jiivra tossed her in the progress of tumbling backwards. She flailed in the air, a breath gasped in panic as her senses started picking sensory data up on the way down. Falling happened in dreams, it wasn’t supposed to happen for real!
“Gotcha!” Astrea’s fall was broken by something squishy. Glancing down at what she was laying on, both Ali and Razor groaned. They had body blocked her impact with the ground; they calculated what was needed to catch her on the way down, but heavens were they bad at math.
“Still… got you…” a pained whine from Razor wheezed out as Astrea accidentally pressed her hand right onto his spleen when getting up. There were bodies in the way! She had tried not to hurt him! While brushing herself off, the students got up as well; though Ali had to drag Razor back to the wall.
A defeated sigh rang out from Jiivra. People turned to look at her and tried not to giggle at the sight of a very large sugar glider having decided he was going to curl around her for a nap. It was nap time, then after a nap was eating time. He was tired and hungry, and social decorum wasn’t something a beast understood. “Blankie… get off.”
Astrea leaned against the wall, rubbing her eyes with bemusement. The fall from mid-air had woken her up in a hurry but she was still incredibly tired. “I don’t think he wants to do that. He has the face of a content beastie.”
Jiivra groaned, actually whining, “Is it safe outside yet?”
The infernal cultivator shared some glances with other students. It was considerably quieter up there, and the light show seemed to have ended. No noises came when she stopped to listen, and it’s not like she could smell anything other than terrified people and metal down here. She guessed she was going to have to check it herself since nobody was jumping to volunteer.
Carefully she made the climb only to barely poke her head out of the crevice. She scowled and kicked the wall. “You have got to be joking.”
“Oh, there you are! What took you so long?” A heavy pink puff-cloud left her grandfather’s lips after a mighty draw from a hookah. He was set up nearby with a maddening array of cul
inary crafts. Who… where was he getting this food? How had he gotten this food? How was he alive? Wait… he was alive!
“Dad!” Artorian dropped his hookah pipe, his eyes locked onto Astrea with bewilderment as she leapt from the gap to charge him. She was crying by the time she was in a full-on tackle, but her Elder caught her like she had the weight of a lightly stuffed plush toy. He wasn’t going to judge; ‘Dad’ was fine. Grandfather would have been preferred, but Dad was just fine. As if he could say no to his family.
“Hello, my dear. I’m so glad you’re alright. I take it the others are in that crevice? Won’t you fetch them? I’ve got some confections prepared. Thought you might be hungry by the time the hubbub died down.”
Astrea squeezed the life out of him, or at the minimum tried, but she didn’t have the Essence to get very far. He didn’t mind, and made little pathetic groaning noises anyway to pretend she was doing a number on him. “Oh, I am defeated! Squeezed by a mighty princess. I have been felled!”
He got punched in the shoulder, and all was right with the world. “Help me get them out. I barely made it out myself.”
He nodded and waddled over, leaning on a scavenged scabbard as if it were a walking stick. Poking his head into the crevice, he whistled and called, “Hello down there! Is anyone hungry? I brought pie!”
Jiivra’s eyes snapped open, and she was upright so fast Blanket was launched to the opposite wall as if a springboard trap had just been triggered. Blanket did not like this in the least. He hissed at her and chittered, bounding up the walls to escape the crevice. Only to see the face of a very adored old man. Blanket activated its tackle maneuver, and down Artorian went. It was super effective. The old man rolled backwards a few times from the sheer loving force of Blanket’s impact. “Oof!”
Jiivra was seething, and almost fully crawled out of the hole by the time Artorian was up with Blanket relocated as a cape. Fueled by rage and a need for answers, she threw her leg over the crevice’s edge and rolled the rest of the way. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought you were dead, stop hurting my heart!”
She had him by the front of the Gi moments later, and if she’d had the strength, she would have manhandled him and given the old fox a heavy back-and-forth shaking. He couldn’t stop laughing when Jiivra threatened him, arms swallowing her up in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re well. Now come. Eat. I have questions to ask while your mouth is full! *Fufufufufu*.”
Chapter Twenty
The rest of the student body was hoisted to freedom in short order. It took a while to get everyone out, and their reactions of what happened to the surface became repetitive copies of those who’d come before. Some thought they’d arrived in a different place entirely. It was all so devastated, save for the Skyspear.
Large blankets had been brought down from the still mostly intact academy. They served as picnic blankets on endless lengths of desolate dirt. A variety of hookah, fresh dishes, and fruits were strewn out in clay pots and bowls. Piled up tapestry rolls were systematically rolled out to make more room as an ever-increasing flow of hungry, tired students joined the survivor’s encampment.
Nobody questioned where the food came from. They were just glad to have it. Stuffing their faces and downing whole vases of water. Surprisingly little was said. Most remained shell-shocked at recent events, and many had suffered great losses. Friends were gone, instructors were gone, and… well. The city was gone. It was a lot to take in.
Jiivra popped a grape into her mouth and clambered to her feet. A quick glance let her find her target, and some wobbly steps led her to nudge Artorian in the shoulder. Silence was fine, but there was a pertinent question that had been bothering her. “How’d you survive?”
Artorian smiled up at her and pointed to the mountain while chewing on a sandwich. He didn’t talk with his mouth full, and received a less than gentle sigh in return. That didn’t help the celestial cultivator, but her Headmaster’s fingers suddenly moved up before sharply coming down. A nearby *thud* hit the ground, softer than a falling object should have any right to be.
She glanced over and went pale in a heartbeat. Artorian grew incredibly confused when Jiivra dropped to a knee. Her right hand kept in a fist while pressed to the open palm of her left. She held the position, moving the hand-greeting above her head while keeping her gaze downcast. Artorian whispered in response. “My dear?”
A hasty hiss spat back at him under her breath. “Artorian what are you doing? Bow! That’s a Saint!”
Artorian’s confusion doubled as he glanced up to see Ember was here with a fresh batch of food for them. She was the only one that could quickly go up and down, and the only one with actual cooking skills, as odd as that was. Oh, whoops. Dawn! Not Ember. Drat! He was doing so well. Now he was slipping. His face scrunched a moment before getting up.
Upon doing so, he noticed that anyone with a clear line of sight to their combat instructor had copied her pose in an absolute hurry. “I… Dawn, dear. What’s going on?”
Dawn set down a hollow rock containing a literal ton of goods. She took in the behavior and dropped her forehead into an awaiting hand; blocking her vision with her palm and fingers. “It’s… I forgot about this part.”
Artorian raised both his hands to the air. Making an ‘I don’t know what’s going on’ motion before loosely dropping them down to his sides so they slapped his hips. “This ‘part’ being…?”
Jiivra was not amused in the slightest. Her stern hush carried an intense, sharp sense of urgency. Worry filled her expression. “Artorian! Get. Down. That lady is a Saint! Show deference. Now! You’re essentially telling a Vicar to abyss themselves if you don’t!”
The Headmaster heard her, but just slowly moved his gaze back to the S-ranked cultivator. Jiivra had whispered louder than she wanted to. Students who had been equally confused overheard her. They were cultivators too. Even low on Essence, their enhanced hearing went a long way. Not wanting to risk a negative event, onlookers joined the rest without a word. Seeing as a person they couldn’t defeat if they teamed up on her was on a knee.
“Please… don’t. Please get up. I don’t actually like this.” Jiivra shot up at Dawn’s words, changing her kneeled bow to a standing one. One similar to the standard Skyspear greeting of deference to a Master. It didn’t make Dawn any more comfortable, as it turned out that their relative position to the ground hadn’t been the problem. The Incarnate realized that this wasn’t going to play out the way she wanted, and for a moment slipped into the role Jiivra understood. Just to move the conversation along. “Can y… *ahem*. You can relax.”
Heavens did she hate stuff like this. Why couldn’t everyone just treat her like a person? This was like her late Mage days all over again. Actually… “Artorian, have you met any Mages? Aside from myself in the earlier days?”
Jiivra didn’t actually relax. Her posture did, but her hand motion and bow remained unchanged. Jiivra feared for her life, regardless of the fact that the Saint was talking to her Headmaster with a distressingly casual tone. If she and the students would not have been present at all, that would have been preferable. Holding to tradition was far safer, so she would. Insulting a Mage spelled the end of your entire lineage. Failing to placate even the slightest whim of a Saint spelled the end of your dynasty.
Artorian held his beard, answering the question. “No…? No, I don’t believe I have. Why are they all bowing even though you said it was fine for them not to do so?”
Dawn pressed a finger to her lips, her elbow leaning on an arm that she kept around her midriff. How to explain this…? “Do you recall that, as a Mage, I was potent?”
Artorian affirmed with a positive nod, his arms crossed as he tried to follow where this was going. His thoughts weren’t coming easily at this particular moment. Since he was paying attention, she filled him in just as if they were having a lesson back in the forest.
“In your measurements, that was the scale of an A-ranked cultivator. Also called a High Mageous.
A B-ranked cultivator is just called a Mage. What I keep referring to as an Ascended. To me there is no difference between your B-rank and A-rank, however, to all your students, that difference is one of life and death. A Mage has such power that their desires change the course of history. A body of Mana makes one nigh invulnerable to all the ordinary threats a mortal can face.”
Artorian swapped his position to press his arm about the small of his back, free hand pensively resting on the beard. He’d grasped the context well enough to follow along, and nodded for more.
“A Mage is respected by realms as a whole on a fundamental level. One upset Mage means the end of your kingdom, queendom, or tribe unless you have a Mage of your own to counteract this. With Mages, no two individuals are ever truly on the same scale of power. Affinity count, Tower tier, technique proficiency, Core cultivation technique, inherent identity of the Law in question, and a few other circumstances are directly important when it comes to comparing one Mage to another.”
Dawn held up a few fingers. “As example. The amount of Mana they’re currently holding, amount Invested in their actions, or how compatible their abilities are with their personality and Mana Type. Once you are a Mage, you exist in an entirely different world of problems. Even if all your old ones cease to exist.” The old man rolled his wrist to ask her to go on, but he was stopped. Getting a look from Dawn in return that meant she wanted to know if he was actually following, before she kept speaking.
Artorian cleared his throat and filled in what she was looking for. “Power translates to respect, because the threat of not respecting those individuals leads to fear out of what they could do if you crossed, disrespected, or otherwise inconvenienced them. So… people bow, or otherwise wait to be addressed even if their social rank may be higher. Social rank plays second fiddle if the person you’re speaking to can whistle and turn every stone in the vicinity to shrapnel. I get it…”
Artorian's Archives Omnibus Page 91