Thus began one of the most exhausting days of Gust’s relatively spoiled life.

He wasn’t particularly overweight, nor was he ever an athlete. He was no softer than the average person in his world, but the standards in the Fallen Leaf were far higher than anything he had ever dealt with. As a result, his body wasn’t ready for the journey it had to take.

Countless other young men and women rushed around him, and Gust couldn’t figure out why they all had so much energy. He saw boys with barely any muscle on their arms carrying tall piles of wood, or thick logs that would have crushed his own body.

On one trip to the river, while Gust huffed and puffed deep, desperate breaths, a girl ran past him with a vat dangling from each hand. She filled them both with a graceful scoop and proceeded to jog back in the opposite direction.

Gust stopped and watched her, his mouth gaping. He was so confused by the girl’s show of athleticism that he wondered what was wrong with him. Did his vat hold more water, despite appearing the same size? Was his made of heavier clay? He had no idea, but it made him feel a little better to believe so.

The run to get the water was rough, but the walk back was… torture. Gust kept shifting his grip and pausing to catch his breath, and still nearly dropped the thing several times. The first trip took nearly an hour. He arrived dripping with a mixture of sweat and spilled water.

Locke peered into the vat, then at Gust’s wet clothes, and revealed an unsatisfied expression. “You lost too much. Do better next time.” He lightly kicked an empty vat next to himself and nodded back in the direction Gust had come. “Go on,” he added, as if he were speaking to a dog. Then, he rolled up his sleeves, stuck his mop into the new vat, and returned to his work.

The boy’s loose robes had a small, dark spot of sweat on the back. Gust couldn’t help but feel bitter as he noticed that. He could probably wring enough moisture out of his own clothing to fill a milk jug. Or a vat of water.

Bitterly, he lifted the empty clay vessel and headed north.

Every journey took longer than the last and Locke never failed to share some biting comment when Gust returned. When he suggested trading jobs, Locke shook his head. “You’ll just have to pray the Masters don’t realize I’m reusing water,” he said.

Gust shook his head and looked again at the courtyard. “This place is already sparkling clean. There aren’t even any leaves or pine needles. Are we having guests or something, why are they so anal about it?”

Locke sighed and lifted his cold blue eyes without ceasing his work. He raised one eyebrow. “Did they really stick me with the new guy just to soak up all the stupid questions?”

“Alright. Fuck yourself,” Gust shot back and turned around.

After a frustrated scoff, Locke rushed forward and placed himself in front of his new partner. “Haven’t you seen the mortals coming and going? The path from the nearest town leads straight to this courtyard and into the cathedral. We always have a Master in there, cultivating while he awaits supplicants. When the mortals have problems they can’t solve themselves, they come to us. Whether it’s the king himself, or some farmer, why would they want our help if we can’t even keep our own grounds clean? Besides, sometimes the work we do isn’t about the work itself. Sometimes it’s to build certain muscles, other times it’s just to keep us busy and build discipline.”

Now that he thought about it, Gust did notice a few people pass by who were dressed differently from the rest of the students.

Gust looked down at the blisters forming on his hands. He felt his arms aching and tried to find something to look forward to. The meals were all the same, a mixture of vegetables, meat, and rice. The days were all the same, a mixture of work, training, and cultivation. How did any of them stay sane?

Gust couldn’t help but ask. “Don’t you get bored living like this? What do you all do in your free time?”

Locke reared back and smirked as if it was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. “Free time? We cultivate! Sure, it gets boring, but what do you think the real mages do with their lives? They’re called cultivators for a reason,” he laughed. “Most of their time is spent in silent, secluded meditation. If you think this is boring, then just wait until you really begin. Maybe that’s what they’re training us for,” he seemed to realize in the moment. “To make sure we don’t bore ourselves to death.”

Gust blinked a few times and started nodding. That made sense… in a way. “I just don’t understand how it seems so effortless for some of them. I saw a girl smaller than me lifting the same vat full of water as if it were made of Styrofoam!”

“Of what?”

Gust paused and remembered that he would need to be careful with his words. It wasn’t that he was trying to hide anything, just that these people wouldn’t know about modern technology. “Uh, it’s a lightweight material. Think wood, but much lighter.”

Locke nodded. “Oh, well it’ll be easier once you reach the first stage of Mana Absorption. Even that should refine your body a little.”

Gust’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized the strength referred to in his cultivation manual was both magical and physical. “How long does that take?”

Locke’s eyes narrowed and he reached up to squeeze one of Gust’s arms, who gave him a weird look. “Sorry, I’ve heard some things about the underworld, but it’s hard to tell how much is true. The first stage didn’t take me any time at all, or any of us. I don’t see how you’ve even lived this long. Maybe one in a thousand kids are born like you Demons, and they don’t last a month. Your world must be… strange.”

Gust couldn’t contain a sharp laugh. “My world is strange? You people have magic!” He couldn’t get over the curiosity they all had about his world.

“So do you,” Locke said simply. “I’ve heard of your world’s technology. Is that a form of cultivation?”

“Ah, no. It’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t grown up with it.”

“Now you know what it’s like talking to you.”

Gust opened his mouth and closed it. “Fair point,” he replied. Considering that people had been struggling to explain cultivation to him, Gust could at least try. “It’s like… imagine if you could harness the power of fire and make it do whatever you wanted. You could travel quickly, communicate with people on the other side of the world… you could do anything, really, if you’re smart enough.”

Locke shrugged and returned to his work, “Doesn’t sound all that different from magic.”

After a few seconds, when Gust didn’t move, Locke looked up at him and raised one brow.

With a serious tone, Gust cut straight to the point of something that had been eating away at him. “Have you known any other… outsiders? Did they make it to the first stage, or did they die trying? How long do I have?”

The sudden, somber questions made Locke sigh. “I’ve only been here a little over a year, so I haven’t seen any come through but… yeah, I’ve heard about others. Some have a year, others have two. No more than that, though.” Gust opened his mouth, but the other boy predicted the question and answered, “Most don’t make it.”

Gust nodded and clenched his teeth. A pit of despair seemed to be growing in his stomach that made him feel like there was no point. He had never been remarkable. Gust had been lazy, and proud of it. He made a point to do as little work as possible, thinking that everyone else was a fool for working their asses off to make someone else richer.

But this was different. Gust’s life was on the line, and he had no one to rely on but himself.

For a moment, he thought of his father, trying again to reconcile the differences between the man he knew and the amazing Swordsman who passed through this school. Was everything they said true?

There was an item sitting in Gust’s chest in his room, which might answer every question on his mind. His father’s journal, however, was written in a language he’d never seen before, which didn’t match anything he could find. He had seen some writing recently and knew these people used the same alphabet Gust knew.

The Masters might be able to read his father’s journal, but after the strange conversation Gust witnessed his first night, he didn’t think he could trust them.

Or anyone, for that matter.

Gust had been standing in place, idly looking toward the Patrons’ images set into the center of the courtyard. Locke snapped his fingers to get the boy’s attention, “Look, I really don’t mean to be a dick, but I’ve been working alone for a while, and I got it down to a technique. I remember what it was like to barely eat when I first got here, and I’m not going back to that, understand? Just keep working hard and cultivating on your time off. Either you’ll get there, or you won’t.”

And just like that Locke returned to his usual sullen state. They were nearly halfway done, and the sun was descending in the sky. As he began another trip, Gust kept telling himself that the day’s work was almost over. He could rest soon.

And then start all over again tomorrow.