“You look horrible,” Seri said through a yawn.

Grisla shot a look to the phantom in his room, who took up a seat far removed from where Jadestone or Mu Yin once stood. The more he looked at her, the muddier his confusion got; he didn’t know where to begin with Seri. He couldn’t put a finger at her age, or feelings. Her straightlaced identity didn’t have a single crack on the surface; even after being aware of Seri’s existence for two months. She did make it clear, before and even now without a word, if he were to die, there wouldn’t be a word of complaint from her. She’d chalk it up to his inability or his lack of fortune.

Yet, knowing that she was here assured him of something he couldn’t name; put a finger to. The ache subsided, but he chalked that up to the painkillers doing their work.

“Want a tip? Stay far away from that woman; she’s too perceptive to do you any favors.”

“What?” Grisla said, “what do you mean?”

Seri snorted. “I meant as exactly stated. Jadestone’s curious, and if you weren’t an Orlith there’d be no telling of how ‘hospitable’ she would be to her guest with a rare treasure. She scanned the amulet, several times in fact. Obviously, just as you reacted to it once, she did as well. Realizing what she had in her hands wasn’t any ordinary trinket. Bet that woman had a shock at something being a mystery to her… the little ant.”

It was common sense in their world, only those who are “worthy” of their treasures deserve to keep them. An iron-fisted grip consolidated off the corpses who dared to covet what’s yours made your right for ownership. And, if you failed to support your claim—you would be the one lifting another. A cycle of the strong reigns; the weak crumbles, played endlessly throughout all levels of socialization. He, Grisla, was but one participant in the system, he benefited from it; implicitly by birthright, over the lesser families that inhabited Leimuth. Had they the power, there would be no Grittus clan, not in its current state, anyway.

Grisla tightened his hold over the amulet, “When did she take you?”

“While you were out cold. She snatched it ‘fore even a day passed.”

“Trying everything to crack a puzzle of which she has no idea about,” Seri said.

“Don’t give me that face. I’m fine, really. If she threatened to damage the amulet there’s countermeasures in place for that.”

Grisla released a breath he was unaware he’d been holding, “Good.”

His hands made signs, then—an all too familiar grey light enveloped his left hand. Almost as if in a call for help, Grisla put his Jadewater Hand wherever the pain screamed the most. He squealed as it went to work. Although he’s being “healed,” whichever part of his body he isolated it’s just going through a period of reversal in time, any bruises, scrapes, gashes or fractures, surface level or otherwise, will be lived through again. He made faces, clawed the bedding given to him; thankfully, the damages weren’t too long ago, and neither was the pain he healed too great for him to bare. In the time it takes to brew tea, he was nearly recovered.

He grunted, there was nothing left to take from the well.

“I… advanced?” Grisla said.

Seri blinked from her seat—taking a new one at the foot of Grisla’s bed. “Aye. It seems you do well under pressure. Pretty unsurprising,” she offered a light grin.

“I’ve overheard a little. They expect you to be bedridden for another day. I would suggest following that to not arouse suspicion; get up early if you’d like.”

He couldn’t take her too seriously. This place, despite the tranquility and the invigorating air, unsettled him. Jadestone wasn’t part of it, maybe a fraction, if he admitted. No, it was the true knowingness that he was on his own here. Sure, he could argue it was the same as before, travelling, and enduring danger in the Northern Wilderness. This was different—in the end, it was his own folly that brought him to such a place and forced his life to such extremes. But even then, there was a scrap of hope that he carried, hell, every cultivator from such an illustrious clan carried with them, Xinrei, Han, Rangwha and Bei Mei were no exceptions to this. Obviously, for them the hope assuredly varied; from a chunk—to a mountain of certainty.

That, no matter how endangered their life may be. Or how futile the odds come to, there would always be a guardian watching over them. Grisla expected, no, knew his father is likely been scouring the outdoors for as long as he’s been out. And will likely continue to do so until he, or his corpse, has been found. Though their bonds have been strained by disappointment and the hurt of loss, their familial acknowledgement and its responsibilities stand strong.

To that end, Grisla knew he had to return. But not in the way his father would like.

Only in the way an Orlith can be respected.

“We’ve got some time alone,” Seri said, either to her nails she checked absentmindedly, or to the boy who couldn’t bend his spine willingly, “I think its due time I speak.”

Grisla said, “Huh, about what? If it’s a request, you can see from here that I’m in no sh—”

She put a finger to her lips. “Under the terms of the contract, by the pact you signed to the Cardinal Four, you’ve dedicated your life to serving them, as their Sage. If the chips fall where they may, there could be a time you really do become our Sage.”

“Our?”

“Well,” Seri grimaced, “you’ll have authority over me if you manage to climb the waterfall, however hopeless that is.”

Hope, possibility, will he? Can’t he? Grisla’s heard all sorts of prophetic and open-ended phrasing since the moment he picked up the amulet. From Seri, he’ll be hearing no end of it until the day he really does leave this world, or he becomes what they need him to be. But—

There’s more to this Sage title than they’ve let on, that’s for sure.

For once, a true page of skepticism was in writing progress. He’d known and heard in their rhetoric that he was their only choice in the matter so far, and they couldn’t wait. However, with one little question answered to placate Grisla’s own, a new one came. White Tiger had told him and reminded to drill it into his skull and merge with the marrow, that he’s a substitute for a real Sage to replace the one they lost, and, heavenly and great existences they are, they don’t pick lightly.

If that’s true, then where’s their previous Sage? Dead, or missing?

He froze that thought to keep his attention for Seri.

“Grisla Orlith. A boy with not much to say for outstanding accomplishments or noteworthy skills. Yet you have an ability that speaks otherwise. Jadewater Hands, pretty name,” Seri said.

Her ghostlike hand took his, and, without a word of complaint from Grisla, she looked at the palm of her understudy. A palm with all its ridges and imperfect lines. Squinting, the girl looked as if she were trying to discern the truth of the world in that inspection, lending the inspected to believe that they had done something wrong that even they, were unaware of.

“…Seri?” Grisla questioned.

“How strange. To think a technique from a place like this, has the very, very, and very small insight, about smaller than the smallest bug you know for reference, into continuity manipulation.”

“Conti-what now?”

“Time. This technique of yours bends the natural laws of this world, and yet, you live with it every day as if its normal.”

Grisla retrieved his hand. “Obviously, I know it’s not normal. Why do you think I haven’t abused it?”

“That’s because you have a piddling pool of energy to stop you.” Seri sneered, “That excuse won’t fool me.”

“If you used Jadewater Hands from the start, on Mu Yin specifically—you might not be in this bed right now. Or maybe if your confidence didn’t get to your head.”

Grisla let out a noise and plopped into his pillow; he grabbed one end and folded it over his ear, but that did nothing—for Seri’s plum of a face reappeared in front of it. “I have my own code.”

“Ooh,” Seri mocked, “’I have my own code,’ he says. I fail to see the point; you had no qualms killing the other two. Far as I see it, you only managed to scrape the bottom of the barrel of your luck when it comes to getting out of that conflict. If I were you, I’d be kowtowing to Jadestone for the rest of my life.”

“Enough.” Grisla growled. “I don’t want to use something like that, it’s not a technique that I’m worthy of using. Besides, my mother wouldn’t appreciate me abusing it in such a way.”

“Ah, yes. That mystery mother of yours.” Seri said.

“The number one factor for all of this, ain’t it?”

Grisla’s expression flickered.

“Tell me Grisla Orlith, tell me now. From the moment you discovered your core was worthless, and your mother abandoned you, what did you decide was your purpose? What exactly is driving you? I’ll stop the twenty questions, and I’ll ask it straight—What do you want, Grisla Orlith?”

That burning question.

He didn’t run. “What do I want? Huh, alright. We’ve got time to kill, so I’ll tell you a story, Seri.”

Seri, in an expected response, groaned. “If it’s another one of those lame ‘This is how I caught a rabbit’ kind of tales I’ll leave you here. The hell kind of diversion is this?”

“Not a diversion at all, really,” he shook his head. “Though, you could say… that someone was a rabbit in this story. And the rabbit, like my stories before, just was powerless to the bait. He touched up his savannah-like lips once more, “Let me start from the beginning…”