The Joddarim Grasslands lay just before the desert; before reaching the closed and designated site for Well of Wonders, where the Jade Fate Sect delivers bright-eyed juniors every year to salvage what the older generations discarded, or ignored. A mysterious site which was estimated to be in use in an era long past, fading to myth and word of mouth. While located in the Empty Lands, it provided an inadvertent level of security to the sect’s precious find, here, only traders bothered to cross; as a shortcut towards the Jade Fate Sect and, the Grittus clan beyond. It’s just a question of how much discomfort one is willing to take for passage. Fortunately and oddly the Empty Lands is alone in its inhospitality on the island of Hannamith. Researchers who’ve searched for a clue couldn’t find the reason to. Though, if they found the Well of Wonders…

Its massive doorway at the entrance welcomed all. And did, but later, only one figure had managed to stumble back so far. Looking so frail, a loose wind could throw him as it willed. It mattered little; the Empty Lands won’t permit the unprepared to survive for very long. With one step, he could cross the threshold, and experience the full scorching fury of a never-tamed sun. He hesitated. Pulling back, he rested blanketed in shadow. But the heat carried on the winds, on granules of sand hitching a ride could bake him without a step outside. He didn’t look ready to move anyhow. Behind his feet his brimming pack had its threads crying for mercy. He sighed, fingering a medallion hanging by a leather cord.

It took a full day of immediate rest to get Grisla’s body back into where he could move on his own, and slow at that. Injuries from the Ji Nan encounter weren’t healed, and, before long Grisla’s body was forced into another encounter yet out of his control. ‘Encounter’ would be an understatement. He fought, and fought, and fought, and fought until—he was the last standing. Their loot in hand, naturally. As Avarice would think.

Was the price worth it? Not really, if he had to say. Loot wasn’t his concern anyway for coming to the Well of Wonders. Eliminating Ji Nan from planning another attempt on his life; and, for getting Shu involved were his reasons. Everything else that came with, was an unexpected bonus. An unnecessary risk taken with his hand forced.

Ji Nan did help him, even while dead. The map he held, which violated the rules of the Well of Wonders expedited his search for the item White Tiger tasked him on. That took half a day. He could rush because any other extras to be found along the way, were already claimed by the sect disciples—their treasures; now his.

He raised his hand. The power of the Seven Gates of Hell does not reward power without its own due. In exchange for multiplying my strength far beyond its limit, I’ll have to allow myself to be overtaken by sin, to open a gate requires a trial, one in which I must face… and conquer in order to make it my own. Should I fail…

“I shouldn’t be thinking of it,” he whispered.

The book itself had vanished upon his return. Nowhere to be seen, he guessed it somehow got lost or… whatever the reason. He didn’t care. If it turned out that the original tome sat at the ocean’s floor, he’d call it too simple as a disposal. The Cardinal Four’s thoughts aligned for once: it needed to be destroyed. He’d happily offer it if he could. But of course, much to his dismay, that’d be too simple of a solution for such an unknown item. Rather, the book just migrated to his head—its content, page by page shielded to the unworthy by Soul Encryption suddenly unraveled itself with eerie delight when he was “selected,” presuming.

And the final chamber? Nearly as devoid as the land before him. Grisla surmised that partly of the rules against maps or other navigational material was in due to the fact that, the Elders had took more than what they could do with; whatever inheritance was meant, whatever treasure was placed, the dust would be the disciple’s prize soon after. It wouldn’t look too good to find an Elder leave nothing for their successors, so all that had to be done was place a stopgap until they could find a more convenient excuse. He lucked out by allowing Seri to direct him with her extraordinary senses, finding a halfway ransacked room, explainable by it being full of trash and was in current use in this era as the Elder’s trash bin.

It was laughable, really. The things the Elders considered disposable would make a pauper like himself swear a vow of friendship for the “gifts” However, it was not for that Seri wrested his wrist to rifle in it. What he found, what she nodded as their target for the White Tiger’s request—she was as confused as he was but pretended not to notice—was an item he had to sneak into Limbo to deliver. As ridiculous as that sounds.

The Cardinal Four’s White Tiger, Lord of the West and my master after his proxy, Seri; threatened me with about, I’ve forgotten, but close to a hundred ways in thirty seconds of how he’ll kill me, named twenty to dispose of me and an extra forty afterward when he had a breath to think. Before snatching it from me that I nearly died —twice!—to retrieve. Disappearing without a word of thanks, too. Who does that?

The item he slaved to get? A stuffed animal. A stuffed tiger, to be exact.

His eyes wanted to burst the moment he laid eyes upon it. And, had to confirm with Seri who herself was as confused as he. He wondered if it was a special item or had a hidden purpose unbeknownst to him. Nope, least not from what he could glean from it. A surge of strength could make it explode at a hair’s whim of his. Besides that, he got what he was asked for.

Sure enough, it was a day of firsts, for the White Tiger himself already awaited them. Iced eyes like the heart of winter, with his fur whiter than even the purest of snow, striped with black, he and everything he is comes in a enormous scale; Grisla wondered for what was his protruding fangs were meant for; did he intend on biting a chunk off the world? He never thought of asking. Had even less of a chance, since the Tiger himself was acting as weird as the item Grisla found, and before even that, the weirdness of it being in a dump of all things in the same pile as a few cultivation materials put it all into questions for him.

His mouth parted then, thinking about asking about it. But then, suddenly, a different shade of the creature known as White Tiger was revealed, just partly.

While leaning on the wall, he frowned. I’ve never seen him look so… I don’t know how to put it, reminiscent? Of a stuffed toy? It had to be me seeing things.

White Tiger mumbled some things, some of which escaped his ear, others he couldn’t make sense of so he discarded. A strange event indeed, but it wasn’t of his concern so.

In any case, there was something of worth he could think about; the memories. Memories he’d never bring to light, without the tome at least. Though it burned to think about. The hardship suffered just so he could keep his mind secured on its throne. Avarice, long gone, now back and assimilated to whence it came. He is and is not, Avarice. It wasn’t a soft shock to find out that he had such a thing inside of him; apart of him. The consequences for letting go like that were the first reason he’s here now, with one step left till the outside.

Avarice didn’t kill those who obeyed. But—it was disgusting to surmise—halfway of his current issue would be rectified if he did. Ji Nan, along with a selection of many potentially handpicked individuals among the Jade Fate Sect disciples to attend and seek a fortuitous encounter to bolster the sect’s strength went to the Well of Wonders are now dead. To the hand of one. Thinking about it made him want to shatter; perhaps dying inside would be a better outcome than… whatever could happen to him later. Turning his head to the hallway, and flashing a grim smile…

…He still had the option for it. Hell, if he was going to go all the way, he might as well have executed a few more, what else would it have done that he wasn’t going to suffer for anyway? Ji Nan’s body was left behind because of the extenuating circumstance.

He laughed without mirth. Killed a future Inner Disciple, murdered more disciples than I could number on my fingers, and the rest who weren’t were robbed of whatever of worth on their person. Oh, and silly me, how could I forget? I’ve already a body count of their disciples from earlier. The Northern Wilderness was just the beginning.

Worst mistake as of recent? Leaving witnesses. He wasn’t a killer, didn’t bring him any pleasure nor did he glorify the act. But… he long ago conceded it as a begrudging necessity to keep him alive. The moment Ji Nan died it became so. Even the dimmest of brains could put the pieces together—and nobody would care that Ji Nan provoked it, and as such, to any eyes and under a warrior’s code deserved it but who would bother speaking up for him? To them, Ji Nan died and the Untalented survived. Somehow. He couldn’t risk it.

However, by the time it became a concern to him it was much too late. The first two in mind: Mira and her companion were long since gone. Carrying with them the proof of his crime. And others, too. Those he missed while their legs ran them all the way back home to their mothers or Elders.

Made all the more worse with him being at a loss to how much time had passed, or not, in his trouble. Sure enough, he was confident that if he returned to the Jade Fate Sect he’d find the headsman and the torturer sharing tea at the front gate. Returning was out of the question, beyond it. Thankfully, Grisla had sated his hunger for adventure; more than. The experience had within his memories jolted loose some feelings; maybe getting back home, for a little while, wouldn’t be so bad. He certainly needed to check on his father, especially since he isn’t there to take care of any flare-ups. Then Olimuth, who was waiting for him.

Grisla ran a hand through his hair; and some sand grains came with. “So much trouble and it feels like nothing’s gotten done, really.”

The medallion blinked, and, “Are you whining?” a voice said.

“Sort of, I guess.”

“While you complain, the Jade Fate Sect is likely rushing with haste here. My advice is to learn how to multitask. Ever think you could do that while running? Hey, are you listening to me?”

A step outside and a breath taken, Grisla grinned. “Like I have a choice.”

Days later of travel without rest, his back pleaded for it to stop whilst his feet demanded a raise or they’ll give out at any moment. He couldn’t. Not unless he wanted to turn his fear into reality. Yet, he did have ways of mitigating the stress; he had more pills than what he could do with, enough to make even the Bei family sweat. Sure, they weren’t much, possibly dregs in comparison to what, well… the Grittus family or even a whole sect could muster, but for an individual like himself it was a worthy haul.

He exhaled ragged air trapped by the fabric over his mouth. Endure! I’m not a silk-pants young master anymore! If I give into temptation and pop a Soul Revitalizing Pill now, I wouldn’t be able to stop on the next.

They weren’t too far away, from his estimate. About two hours left in the journey for him. Hinted by the dramatic shift in biome. From desert and nothingness, to sparse forests and thin creeks; followed by stubborn stone descended from the mountains surrounding, with the unforgiveable Northern Wilderness to his shoulder. The village’s trail finally reappeared a little bit ago, another tell. He must’ve been imagining, but his stomach’s grimacing came up a notch soon as ever—or unless this meant it too, could think about the feast he’ll have a second after putting his stuff down! Olimuth’ll have to wait.

The path’s curve bended round the stone spear pointing to the sky. With him, the lone traveler on this path.

Eyes moving, Strange. Normally this backroad isn’t used for much but for easier access to the Northern Wilderness for our clan’s cultivators. But I should’ve seen someone at least by now. Returning or departing, Grisla thought.

The day he left was an exception. Departing at such a sensitive time made it so they barely encountered anyone along the way. He himself didn’t encounter anyone excluding the obvious. Nevertheless, he was close. Very. And he wasn’t shocked when the next steps brought him finally to a landmark—the outer gate. Energy he hadn’t known from where he drew it filled his legs, putting him at a stumbling run yet a run, nonetheless. The sun wasn’t too far down so on seeing the gate guards, Grisla didn’t know what to say when feeling a sort of… welcoming to it. A place where the expected has never deviated.

When noticing his approach their bodies tensed; another normal reaction. They held no weapons at their post, as it was unneeded to defend such a low-traffic area of peculiar importance. Regardless, they themselves are weapon enough. The Grittus blacks and the guardsmen badges settled the feeling in for him.

A sudden wave of Spiritual Sense enveloped him, as though it wanted to inspect every inch of skin seen and unseen. His unseen expression still protected by his cloth. The two who held their hands behind their backs stared at him. These men would have no compunctions about slaying whomever pricked their hides here, or wasted their patience.

One raised his chin. “What is your business, stranger? You now approach Leimuth Village, heart of the Grittus clan.”

Behind them, a little past the road ahead, pagodas and an assortment of towers beckoned him. Warm lights, though small and nearly out of sight, marked homes he could almost point out and name the owner and family. As it happens, the largest tower in Leimuth stood head and shoulders above the rest; a thing with an excessive hunger for attention, by design. A beacon to draw him there, yet nothing had changed, and he’ll never be able to get that close to it again.

Bringing his eyes back, Grisla said, “Home,” half to himself. The guards shared a look, with one having a spark of humor in the eyes.

“We have no idea who you are.”

“Never seen you, either.”

Should he feel indignation or relief? Whatever the case, he wasn’t exactly too much in the mood for it.

He spoke slowly, “Grisla, Grisla Orlith. Heir to the Orlith family.” A silence came about, holding over their heads like mist. They ransacked their memories to put a face to it—pouted lips and a head scratch to fit. Grisla had known he was irrelevant, or rather nearly forgotten to most who wanted it to be, but even this was insulting! He still had rights to come and go from the clan anytime he wished.

“Orlith…? Right, the Orlith family. Wait,” the guard said. His eyes squinted. “There’s no way.”

Sighing, Grisla swiped his shawl off his face. The hair held back drifted down in graceful, soft layers. Staring at them, both men had a moment of finally—finally!—linking a face to a name, and the very meaning of it cracked their mouths open. These two men studied him as if he were a talking dog playing the flute.

Tilting his head, he thought, Are the dullards of the guard appropriated here because they’re this useless? This was a new one. His infamy allowed him a different flavor of fame, albeit not as great as when he had his core in one piece and waddled around as Chosen One, but it did allow him the privilege of never needing to utter his name, for someone already spoke his moniker for him. They disappointed him, speaking it so late.

“The Untalented,” One of them said.

“It really is him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve no time for fans,” Grisla said.

The guard sneered. “Just one would keep your heart fluttering; don’t kid yourself. Well, Untalented or no, I guess I can’t keep you from going…” his lips hitched to a corner, as if someone hooked it up, “…home. You’ll get the same reaction the rest of the way, Orlith.”

Grisla’s shoulders pulled up his loot again, and that brought an eye to it. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re dead. Or well, believed to be.”

It was Grisla’s turn to be shocked. “What…? I’m dead?” He turned it around in his head—Maybe, just maybe! I have a chance to live a bit longer, if the Jade Fate Sect was looking for me all this time, and they chance it out that I’m dead, should communication pass between the clan and the sect, then I won’t have to walk with an axe over my head! Well, for a while, at least…

The guard’s folded arms flashed corded muscle, but surely he “Nobody’s seen you since that departure, I guess. So, a little Untalented with no dreams or hopes wandering outside the village’s protection will always be assumed to be buried under some rocks somewhere. If they’re lucky. So how about you then, Untalented? What cave did you manage to hide in until you decided to come back?” His head followed the boy who walked on.

Just before he finally passed through, a foot had him pause. He slowly raised his head to the interloper.

“You know what the deal is,” the guard chuckled. “Inspection.”

Grisla gave him a look. “I don’t remember this ever being a requirement for clansmen.”

“It’s based on my judgement as the captain of this post. What you may have, whatever you may bring, may need to come under scrutiny to protect our people. You understand, yes? Don’t worry about it, I doubt we’ll see anything anyway, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.” The man and his partner rounded up on him. Without even expecting an answer he reached for his knapsack. Suddenly, the suspect stepped back; eyeing them as one might do against an enemy on the field.

“…If you want to overstep,” Grisla said, balling his fists. “Be careful you won’t incur a penalty for it.” They wouldn’t know the Grisla he is now. And he didn’t care, they may have enjoyed their time on him back then, but now…

…There’s little excuse to be pudding for anyone, anymore.