Rangwha cracked Han’s door open, then a smell hit Grisla. It was sensuous, a thing you would find padded on women’s shoulders or, on a more direct example, Rangwha herself. Maybe the adoration for the finer senses was a Rei thing. Grisla had to admit, that even he would expediate a beatdown on himself to get back here. He knew that it wasn’t so different than the feeling he felt just waking up. Be that as it may he wouldn’t totally forget Han’s lack of control on the field. A half-step to understanding, he supposed.

A pampered son like Han wouldn’t be in lack of amenities, wine, and entertainment and in a blink, Grisla saw he had all three. Han’s leisured form was slack across a chaise longue, back facing them.

Han lifted his head, “Big Sis, that you?”

“Yep. But I’m here to bring a guest, Han.” Rangwha said.

Han, in his confusion, “Guest? If it’s the juggler from last year’s festival send her back, she wasn’t all that good to be honest. Wait… “His eyes widened as Grisla’s figure came around to him. “Grisla?!”

“I found her to be quite good. Did you not like the specialty trick?” He pulled up a slight grin.

Instead of replying, Han’s round face snapped to his sister’s. “The hell’s he doing here?”

“He stopped by to see you. I never knew you two were friends.” Rangwha said.

Two heads turned. “We’re not friends,” Throwing each other a venomous gaze the moment after they realized.

“Mmhm, well I am glad Grisla came back, I didn’t want my brother to sit here by his lonesome. You two have fun, I’m going to go pick up some errands.”

Grisla raised an eyebrow. Errands? Chosen didn’t have mundane tasks.

She caught his change, “Keeping occupied is the best killer for boredom! I’ll say. I’ve got bones to break and people to find! So, tootles.”

Before their eyes, she vanished. The only hint of her presence ever being here was the crack at the door. He will never get used to that.

Now that they were alone, a small silence breathed. To be frank, they had never spoken to one another for quite some time if you disregard the practice field. He and Han never had much for each other, not like the former of them could, when he was busy training with his sister all the time. Training, the word sounded so hollow now.

Rei Han, his substitute for the Chosen slot. Once upon a time he had to defer respect to Grisla. It was something to see it on the other foot now. Thereby in the time since Grisla’s fall, he was always a man in his shadow. For his attitude Grisla never blamed him or judged him different—in any case it was the same for him, he had to, once, live up to the standards of his own father in his glories.

…It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I am sorry, too, but one of the reasons my brother is laying in a bed right now is because of you. Remember that please.

He will. But first—

“How’re you doing?” Grisla asked, genuine.

"How am I? What a silly question,” Han weakly waved his arm in its sling, “I’ve felt never better you dolt. A good exchange of pointers between me and my peer, yup yup. Chosen Xinrei is a great opponent for one such as myself, for I never had much of fun battling it out with you. The man has not much restraint, but how could he with so much power to hold?” He made up a half-laugh.

“Really,” Grisla said.

“Yes of course really! The finest expert on the Path I’ve seen!”

Grisla frowned.

A good exchange, my ass.

The boy looked as if he was beaten down with a lead pipe. His left arm was useable, but the fingers were bent in directions they shouldn’t; the right was stuck up in a cast, however his digits still were able to function. Han underneath Grisla’s inspection tried to adjust his posture to hide the extent of the damage, sadly in the attempt he only ended up groaning in pain with every twitch. Actually, a gash opened up and the red stained an already dark and yellowed bandage.

Fights this intense would have to be sanctioned, but what did Xinrei care? He was Chosen—The Chosen, Grisla reminded again. From what he remembered of Xinrei, the guy wouldn’t stoop so low as to beat on weaker opponents unless provoked, even then, he wouldn’t dirty his hands himself. So why?

“Why?” Grisla went ahead and said it. “You’re no match for him, and he should be preparing for the next meeting in the clan. Why waste his time in the Lower Halls?”

Like all men of pride, they step back. “It’s none of your business, Untalented.” Han growled. “We had to exchange pointers and talk, what’s so wrong about that? It is normal for those in our lifestyle to be beaten blue and black. Nothing new.”

He’s doing it, like father.

Grisla couldn’t help himself from clapping back: “What bullshit! I saw just as well as you knew how scared you were! I doubt he even did you in himself, was it one of his boys or the whole?”

Through one half-open eye, Han spat, “And? Maybe I was? What else are you going to tell me, that you would’ve done something? Shut the hell up, Grisla Orlith the Untalented. Are you forgetting it was I who cut you a break then? You’re always standing there, judging everyone. Meanwhile you’ve nothing to speak of yourself. You were Chosen, you were talented, you were someone that we looked up to.” He shook his head. “That era is over. Now, because of your screwup, Big Sis works to the bone to guarantee our family won’t fall behind Xinrei’s!”

“Ever since that discovery four years ago, things haven’t been fun, or happy, or even tolerable for us people who don’t obsess over cultivation. Wanna know the reason? Here,” From seemingly nowhere, and somehow, Han tossed an item over to Grisla. It was a necklace, which would be beautiful—if it weren’t caked in layers of grime, rust and decay that time delivers. In Grisla’s confusion, Han elaborated, “That right there’s the prize Xinrei won off a bet from me. He wanted the heirloom of Rei Jian, one of my ancestors.”

Rei Jian?

He knew of him. Everyone in the clan did. Before there was a Grisla the Untalented, there was a Rei Jian the Inscrutable, and his infamy was just shy of Grisla’s, but he owed that to him being more recent in the clan’s memory. The story was fuzzy because of the tale being repeated enough times for human error to shave off details here and there, or outright lies pushed in contempt of his name. Far as anyone knew, nobody was alive currently to know the full story—except maybe, the ancestor.

How it goes is: Rei Jian was a man of decent accomplishment, who served his village and clan. His techniques did not hail from the inherited and taught martial skills of his family or clan, whenever he was sent out to help he ended up causing more destruction than assistance, so in his failure of restraint the clan forced him on more menial tasks. But it was the beginning of the end, as Rei Jian boarded himself up in his home and dedicated the next twenty years to experimentation. What it was? Nobody knows, as the records were sealed, remaining scraps erased. There were recurring disappearances within the clan, the people of interest were hailed as good talents to act as pillars for the clan’s future.

This would be the part of the tale that would face the most contention. One person’ll tell you he was a deviant who abducted and experimented on his own, another might say he was following and chasing down the perpetrator; others will tell you it was neither the case. As there were no abductions or disappearances and bring up some vague evidence to support.

There was a great shame and level of scrutiny placed upon the family for the next century, that was sure, Grisla knew. Sometimes, it even persisted to today. A point of dislike towards them would be in some suspicions held over from the earlier years.

And Rei Jian? He was found dead over his work, holding in his hands an amulet of silver brilliance.

Today, that same amulet sat in his palm. “This?” He raised it up, “I don’t see what’s so special about it.” Would be doing right by it to just melt it down, Grisla thought to himself.

Han nodded. “There’s nothing. For generations, our family has tried to investigate to see if there was more than it said and found nothing. Grandfather and Lord Ancestor queried countless experts for a study, they all came to around the same thing. ‘Just a shiny amulet, probably meant it for a lady friend of his.’”

Knowing it’s pointless, Grisla tried a probe anyway. He threw his spiritual sense to look over it, only to feel nothing. The sensation that returned to him was of a familiarity no different than a rock. A thread of his Juva went ahead for its turn too—nothing. It really was a dud. But…

“So, what, he wanted this just because?” Grisla said.

Han sneered, but not for Grisla, “Either he thought that our family was a group of pinheads who wouldn’t even have two braincells to rub together at a chance of solving it, or… he just wanted one of our heirlooms, just because. Not sure which is more insulting.”

“Neither do I. If I got it right, you gambled, lost, then as part of your collateral you offered it up?”

“That’s about right. You’ve got a little quickness in you, Grisla.”

Grisla ignored that comment, “A rub and the rust’s sticking to my fingers. This’s gross, Brother Han. Even if it has some history, to think he’ll spent a thought on retrieving this is strange.”

“Well, it isn’t too far-fetched.” He pointed with one of his unbroken fingers, “That thing you’re holding now? It didn’t look like that last week."

“Last week?”

“Hmhm. Looked just as good as it did when it was pried out of our ancestor’s cold hands. I lose my bet, offer up the prize and a week later as we’re walking home, he throws it back, worthless as you see here.”

“Was that before, or after he broke your arm?” He said with a light smile.

Han exploded, “After! The rude shit! Because of that, Elder Sister has taken time out of her day to guard the perimeter just in case if Xinrei really gets out of hand.”

He glanced at Han. “She can beat him?” That was a question Han was too uncomfortable to answer, going by his change in expression. Grisla dropped it. A detour to something else, “Well, since he tarnished it himself it’s nonsensical to toss it back. The fool.”

“That’s the thing, he was insistent it was Rei tampering. When he touched it, kissed it, or whatever kind of strangeness someone gets up to in their home, from what he said the amulet instantly had a change and—there you have it, better use as scrap. Of course, I don’t believe him. However, I also don’t care enough to delve into it further. Xinrei got his frustration out and left it at that. Good enough for me. Pass me that grape, please?”

Grisla rolled his eyes.

Looking at it further he really couldn’t tell anything about it. It felt like scrap and had the griminess to match. However, “Well, if you don’t care for this, would you mind if I take it?”

Han gave him a look like he wasn’t sure Grisla was deaf or not. “I guess? Before you thank me, I hope you heard and listened to the fact that the thing is worthless, now, and even more so in your hands, Untalented. No offense.”

“None taken.” He thought of an idea, “I just want to melt it down, see how much I can get out of it.”

“I would say that that idea heavily offends me, as you’re saying you want to destroy an heirloom of my family’s history. Think because I have a cast on me that I won’t be able to reach over and yank you?” Han’s face went cold, then broke itself off. “I would say that if I cared. Hey, hey! Check the mirror over there, you should see your face! A shade lighter than that pants-shitting picture you had with Xinrei, but I was close! Honor to me, then!”

After Grisla pocketed it, they brought their discussion to better and less tense matters. He could see that Han hadn’t needed his company or anyone else’s—littering his quarters was a pet from any kind of descent you could think of. Tamed, quieted beasts, they acted as if they felt their master’s pain and groaned as he did. Han made a joke; Grisla laughed. Grisla tried a joke, but Han’s headshake was all he could receive. A passage of time Grisla couldn’t be aware of came and went.

By the time they looked around, the moon was stretching.

At Han’s door, Grisla said: “When are you expected to make a full recovery?”

“Soon. Next week, perhaps? Ma’s been throwing money into my recovery.”

“Good.”

“Huh? Explain,” Han questioned.

“Who else will I fight, if not for you? I came over because I was looking for my sparring partner.”

“Hmph! You enjoy getting pummeled into the dirt, do you? Must be a brain condition gone awry. Don’t worry your masochistic soul, Grisla, I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, find yourself something to do while this young master recuperates.” He popped a grape into his mouth.

When Grisla cracked the door—Han spoke again.

“A reminder, we’re not friends. I’ll be sick to my stomach to end up buddies with you.”

“Definitely not. I prefer my companions with a little more shame.”

Before Han could reply, Grisla was shutting the door.