At a region of remote location, where mountains and nature collided, towers, pagodas, and shrines dotted the area. Vast courtyards and their complexes decorated where the towers couldn’t. A morning mist occupied temporarily; the world was thrown into a calm ponderance. Robed figures, of obviously differing heights and size, moved like pedestrians on a city street. Modest talk with unamused laughter occasionally came about, moving with purpose so dallying wasn’t a thing here. Sometimes, often actually, a gong would ring and a set of those in motion would skedaddle as if their life depended on it, shooting to seemingly random directions in groups.

Through these mists, past some buildings, and elevated above, one would see that the place in question had one conspicuous thing of note, a structure sat on a bubbling lake of water, and the habitat nearby was as lifeless as a rock would suggest. After a certain point, the grass would stop growing, and the buildings would halt their expansion. Leaving everything in proximity a desolate place, drawing only the attention for the sole tower which had more floors than anyone could do with.

Inside for exploration, only two floors up and through a hallway with obsessively polished flooring, past a door, and lying on a bed; A man. That’s incorrect, more like one in transition to be. Wrapped in bandages, and then, from the mind of whoever treated him, had the idea almost to wrap him again, if that passed it wouldn’t be a terrible guess that he was on an embalmers bed. He twitched, signs of life.

Grisla Orlith ached. Breathing was a torture, the pain made him shoot back in time as if he were still there. He was awake, barely so. When the light came to him, he fancied it as a mistake, how could anyone endure so much of this? He drifted off to sleep, hoping the passing of time delivers him to a relieved state. But instead…

It was a day of rain. Peppering, gradually getting bolder as the evening went on. This Grisla was smaller now, less outspoken too. Clinging to the hem of a robe triple his size, the owner, a woman stared at the brazier, flames dancing within. The two have been like this for, a while, as Grisla estimates.

“Mama,” He mutters.

The magic word. A hand for caressing, another to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “Grisla…” she said. “Are you hungry?”

The door swung open. Behind the figure at the door, the rain’s reveling noise once held at bay by said door, raged. He took a couple of steps, then abruptly turned to shut the disturbance, as if there were only one. The man took three more, then—

“Careful!” The woman came to the side of the man, who was close to faceplanting himself.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Gihren, you’re not. Far from it, actually.”

Gihren was a building set for demolition. One foot seemed to walk at its own pace, while the other stepped in a gait further away from its host.

“How… how long did it take you to get home?”

“Mira, I said I’m fine. Look,” He flashed a box, “I even brought the dinner you asked for.”

She paused, ever so slightly, “…That was three hours ago.”

Gihren mumbled something to himself as he laid down the goods from his outing. At the table, their dinner was, surprisingly, rather warm. But—as Grisla watched, he saw something to the contrary. His father took limited bites, not out of conservation of a delectable taste, but another which held him close. His eyes needn’t move far for his mother, who hadn’t even touched her plate at all. Instead, Grisla watched her; and she watched Gihren.

Then, “Are you just going to keep staring at me?” Gihren didn’t take another spoonful.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Can we save this for,” he glanced at Grisla, “later?”

“I don’t think a later will ever come, should we wait.”

Gihren sighed. He drifted a hand over to Grisla, tussled his hair, and then said: “Be right back.” It took a moment for the timer to start, as his wife offered her shoulder for him. Their pace, toddler-like in action, was a long wait to Grisla’s stare as he finally watched them disappear from his vision by way of a corner, and then hearing the soft clap of the door beyond that.

Grisla kicked his feet, as if he were born to levitate; the ground too remote for his legs to reach. And so, like the man he watched, he took his own spoonful in limited tastes. It wasn’t as exciting as he presumed, as the pace sped up most immediately after. Adulting is rather boring, little Grisla thought.

As a child under a decade in age, the slow loss that comes to every mortal’s hearing over time wasn’t anywhere close to him. In that regard, he heard snippets, things that no amount of corners and doors in this home would stifle entirely from him. The small, but high-pitched squeal of furniture; the footsteps, because they’re rushed there’s no thought for the noise; broken sentences, questions left unanswered to his ear. And then, even louder than them all—the bouts of silence.

Later, his parents appeared again. Looking no worse for wear, once they sat down, a spark of conversation came, from seemingly nowhere at the table. Gihren smiled, his mother laughed. Grisla then stole their attention away like all offspring’s do. The strangeness before melted away, and things were… normal.

Grisla’s cute smile at the time shone with them, and they were a picture-perfect family behind all of it.

They’re good liars. She left the next day.

The incense was the first thing to hit his nose, it distracted him from thinking about himself. Without realizing the pain was dulled. Still there but was in the midst of a retreat. It was a touch of lavender running up his nostrils, they grabbed his eyelids open. His surroundings were foreign. Even the bed he laid in was, there’s no such thing of this comfort just laying around his place.

Where…?

A fog outside, a fog within; however, Grisla’s attentive nature didn’t afford him the luxury of acting like this for long; clearing out to bring him back to earth. He looked at himself, the bandages that mummified him were not as taut as he remembered. But whoever it was, they didn’t replace the first layer applied to him, seen with the dried blood that peeked through the cloth. He checked his core, that miniature ball was just as exhausted as he was, barely giving him enough Juva to use his spiritual sense to scan the area; it didn’t have enough power to stretch outside the room.

“Seri,” his lips cracked.

“Seri…”

He didn’t notice, but his sweat was beginning to run, “Seri!” He weakly shouted. Commanding his body to move did nothing for him, every twitch anywhere in his body shot a rebound of pain to him. Now he really was scared, not for his injuries, but what may be the result of them. Was he crippled? He hadn’t ever been this feeble, before his beatdown or after. Fear charged in; what was he to do if this was true? He would never consider such a fate might cross him; in this bedridden state he was opened to be attacked at any time. The paranoia smiled, and his eyes shot everywhere.

Wait. Calm down, if I’m here, that means they haven’t killed me yet.

From what his senses told him; he was alone. But this wasn’t the clan, at least, not anywhere that he knew of. Every second he was awake was another spent miring in his questions, but then his hears perked up, almost like a dog’s.

Footsteps through the wall, his hearing hasn’t dwindled that much at all since then.

Since then.

Reminiscence won’t do anything for him. So, he shook it out of his head and listened. Actually—he couldn’t hear anything at all. Just the footsteps, then silence. They’re alone, he supposed. But hesitating. Why?

The door opened and someone walked in, he couldn’t see them immediately as, from what Grisla could tell, he was an infirmary, and it was just his luck to be stuck to a place hidden from the exit. A skilled infiltrator could use that to their advantage—the paranoia again. His cubicle curtain was thin, and on their silhouette, he could tell this person wasn’t wearing anything, at least openly. There wasn’t any strength in his body, or his core to resist if this person had any hostile intentions, and Seri won’t answer him.

Gotta’ face the music, I guess.

When this person revealed herself, the shock on his face was evident. A cool customer, unfazed by any feats he might’ve shown, and dealt with him as if flicking off a bug. She stared at him just as he stared at her, both scrutinizing what they saw. Grisla had no hesitation in this—in one scuffle, he has her tallied as the second-most dangerous person he’d ever met. Behind Xinrei.

Drier than sandpaper, she said: “Hello.”

Mu Yin.

He’d forgotten how to speak, to be so close to one who had full intentions of killing him, and now—she offered up a greeting, just like that?

Somehow, he worked out a, “Hello,” back.

They went back to silence. Awkward enough for Grisla to begin pretending as if she weren’t there at all. But he couldn’t last long. “Uhm, are you going to take a seat?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Mu Yin said.

“How could you not?”

“Because,” she blinked, “I’m not sure if it is right for me to be talking with you.”

“Oh, you mean that attempted murder, right.”

Her face scrunched up even more. Then she stepped forward, “Grisla Orlith, I—”

A puff of air passed his lips. “Hold it. Let me talk first, before anything: I understand.”

“Understand?”

“Yes, understand. You picked your side over a stranger; I can’t fault you for it.”

“That’s rather forgiving. You’re honestly expecting me to believe you hold no sort of enmity for me?”

“Now I didn’t say—” he hacked out a cough, trying to catch a breath wherever it was running to, and then when he stabilized, “I didn’t… say I felt nothing about it. That’d be a blatant lie, correct?”

Mu Yin nodded slightly.

“I’m saying that, since I’m still breathing, and you’re right here, that’s a start for… forgiveness, I suppose.”

Had the shoe been on the other foot, I would’ve killed you all. Can’t say that though.

Instead, he offered up a grin.

“Obviously, I’m in the Jade Fate Sect do I have that right?” On seeing her nod, he continued, “Who saved me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I’m sure I tried not to, but I guess there’s no choice in it now.”

Suddenly, Mu Yin response was cut. She dropped for a bow, “Greetings to you, Elder Jadestone.”

Grisla looked around for this person.

“I’m up here boy.” Jadestone said.

Jadestone, the woman whose robes made her look like a mutated bat, hung from the ceiling. That short-cropped hair of hers didn’t give her away initially, requiring an outside perspective to catch this woman stalking in. Grisla shuddered.

“Oh, and if you’re wondering… I was here the whole time,” She smiled devilishly.

“Also, who’s Seri?”

He froze, though the reboot came quick. “Apologies, Elder Jadestone; my body won’t quite forgive me if I tried to bow. And, this Seri, you ask of?”

“That’s fine if you don’t want to answer, I’ll just pry it out of your memories.”

“Uh, I’m not sure if I find your joke funny, Elder…”

Jadestone sighed. “He sweats so much it takes the fun out of teasing,” Her arm came from behind her back, and from the hand the amulet dangled, “she must be a special someone, at least to gift something like this.”

Mu Yin eyes flicked to it, “It’s beautiful.”

“I bet the girl is too, sounds like you’re outta luck, Yin.”

Mu Yin tilted her head in confusion.

As she tossed it back, Grisla felt that strange sensation, like a piece was missing from him, melt away on touch. With his sails boosted from relief, he had more of a mind to listen what was going to come next from this woman’s mouth.

“You saved me.” Grisla said, “thank—”

“Just as someone doesn’t want to hear an apology, I’d like to skip over the gratefulness.”

Jadestone flipped, landed, then strolled to the other side of Grisla’s bed. She took a breath, “Alright, Grisla Orlith. Let’s talk.”