Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

“There are three thresholds of existence,” spoke Cinto as she wandered the lines of disciples, eyes glancing around to check their form as they went through their martial exercises. Her hands carefully moved out to correct the motions of those who made mistakes.

“The first threshold,” she continued, “is the mortal. Those who are uninitiated in martial arts live out their entire lives and die within this stage. Aliens have their own ways of progressing, but there are few who do not begin their lives as mortals.”

She rapped a boy who was slow in his motions on the head, and he quickly tried to fix his stance. After correcting him, she went back to wandering the lines.

“The second threshold is called the earthly realm. This is where you and I reside, as we have begun our march down the path of martial arts. In all likelihood everyone in this room will never surpass this realm. Perhaps nobody in this entire sect ever will. Even reaching the pinnacle of martial arts and undergoing ascension will not necessarily take you beyond the earthly realm. Earthly immortals are the paragons of this realm, the peak existences below the heavens. Only the Ascendants and the Osine can be said to be greater than they.”

Cinto allowed a moment of silence to fill the room, interrupted only by the sound of rustling cloth and the grunts of exertion. She corrected a female disciple’s posture, and only continued speaking when she saw no one else to correct.

“The final threshold is the heavenly threshold. Only true ascendants and the Osine can be said to exist within it, like deities overlooking Telles from above. We know little of this realm, as rarely if ever do these great existences descend into our universe personally. While we may never reach this level, it is important for us as martial artists to remember that the heavens are the end of the path, what we must all strive for. The Goddess Ceirra created martial arts in order to give us, her creation, something to aspire to.”

In unison, the disciples punched and kicked at the air, their bodies still in the form of raw material. They were in the process of awakening their souls, and had yet to be taught how to pull miasma from the spirit world into their dantians. They would soon learn.

“Of course, our sect does not revere the Goddess of Light. We believe that our people have grown past her auspice, as well as the restraints imposed by her force, Sunlit Hall. We are, as you all know, what they call an unorthodox sect. Some of you will even be taught unorthodox techniques personally by the Sect Leader.”

Upon hearing this, the disciples grew a bit more excited, placing more energy in their motions. Cinto nodded her head approvingly. While she had reservations about unorthodox techniques, it was good to see so many bright, talented young martial artists learning real abilities. Their lives had changed for the better in a fundamental sense, and that was thanks to Cyrus. Even a madman, she supposed, could have a positive influence. …she just hoped that he did not influence any of the disciples to be too similar to himself.

She continued speaking to the disciples as she corrected their forms, and ensured their punches and kicks were performed at the correct speed in relation to the overall movement.

“Though we do not worship her, and go against many of her teachings, to us, immortality is still something to strive for, to become an ascendant and reach her level, as well as that of the other gods.”

Cinto looked over at the students, noting those who seemed more dedicated and talented than the others. She would have to give some of these talented young men and women over to be taught abilities that were essentially poison, and would likely drive most of those talents mad one day. As an educator, this fact pained her heart.

Of course, Cinto knew that she would still do her job. She would tell them the risks and make it optional, but she was certain that none of them would turn down the opportunity to learn techniques powerful enough to take them to the spirit refinement stage and beyond, even if they would likely falter on the path somewhere, doomed to madness and death.

Just like the man who would be teaching it to them.

She had seen Cyrus after his return to the sect headquarters the other day, seen part of his face drooping as if he had had a stroke, and the mysterious disappearance of several sect members, covered up by Rachel and Kein.

There had been some rumors that the Sect Leader had killed them himself, quickly stifled before they could spread outside of the sect.

Not that she particularly missed the former gangsters who had presumably died, even if they had been comrades now and in the past. Given the cruel actions they had all taken under Hidoro, she felt that Tseludia would be a better place if they were all dead. Only the strong fist of the Riverfiend was keeping them in order now, and if something happened to him, the sect would immediately fall apart. It simply had yet to develop a strong foundation in and of itself.

A part of her hoped he would kill most of them once he inevitably fell into madness.

The disciples finally finished the exercise set, shifting into an attentive position and looking towards her for more instruction. She stood before them at the front of the room, continuing to analyze their posture and expressions. A moment of silence passed, and she nodded to them. She could tell from the sweat on their brows and the slight shaking some of them were unable to hold back that each and every one of them was exhausted from a long day of training.

“Dismissed. Take a rest tonight, and show up before dawn.”

The disciples bowed, and began to file out of the room. Cinto noticed a tall farsei girl sidle up to a muscular disciple and begin quietly chatting with him. Qian and… Han, she thought their names were. The two began talking animatedly despite their obvious exhaustion. The girl seemed to be saying something rude, but Cinto recognized a certain look in her eyes. She smirked at the sight, as it reminded her of her own youth. Life had been more simple, then, before Hidoro had changed.

She stood there in the training room, thinking back on the past as the last of the disciples filed out, leaving her alone.

???, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Something was odd with the flow of information transfer on the network, and the matter was bugging Rachel. She had been trying to search through old database iterations, hoping to find the vital information she needed to save Cyrus’ life, but odd delays continued to occur. The difference from what she expected was measured in mere milliseconds, but it was persistent, and the cause was not immediately apparent. After analyzing the nature of the messages in question, she realized that they seemed to be random, but she found that small packets of extra data were stapled to their structure.

Was some sort of virus affecting the network? The messages were sent out by all sorts of different terminals, containing all varieties of contents, and with no particular prevalence among any species. It was as if the network itself was implanting the additional nonsensical data onto the messages.

She had no intention of doing the job of the Tarigani Corporation, who held a government contract that put them in charge of maintaining the station’s network, but she still found it important to stay apprised of any anomalies in the network.

Anything she couldn’t recognize the nature of was inherently a threat.

Idly, she checked up on Cyrus, who was sitting in one of the exercise rooms after a few hours of an intense workout. Before him rested a small glass vial. Within was a pearl of the most vibrant azure, seeming to shift and contort, as if it was melting, flowing to match the shape of the container it was in. But another glimpse would show that it had not changed, still a perfect sphere dripping with condensation. It was the pearl of a marshfiend, the natural treasure that the Hadal Clan had gifted to them in exchange for a set of missions that they had yet to complete for the more powerful organization.

Rachel could sense the singularity of miasma within it, concentrated deeply within the small item. Even for her people it was difficult to construct an item with such miasmic intensity. Its power was so strong that ripples heralded its existence even from within the Brink, where she resided. Her senses glanced back at Cyrus.

He was recovering admirably from his wounds the other day, and would probably remain in good condition until he finally collapsed into madness for good. He just needed to hang on for a little longer, until she found the opportunity to acquire the treasures he needed. Ester Perivar had to be hidden somewhere.

A prophet of that goddess would not have lied about such a thing.

While she considered the matter, another thread of her mind operated on the network anomaly, trying to discern the cause. She pieced the different data fragments together, trying to understand their similarities. There had to be some shared origin to them. It would be far too much of a coincidence, otherwise.

It took her over ten minutes in subjective time to find a shared aspect of the files, though only a few seconds passed in the outside world. There were some numbers hidden in each of the files. A recognizable string, 834045026, followed by another string of numbers that were unique to each one. It was like a set of instructions, informing her of connection points. As if a file had been broken up into a vast set of smaller pieces, and spread across thousands of messages.

It was incredibly hidden, disguised in such a way that it would not even be flagged by the crawler bots used by the Tarigani Corporation. Even if it were discovered, the packets would simply be wiped without their secrets being recognized.

A message that only a Shade or a Terran could possibly notice.

Rachel froze, wondering just what might be hidden in the data. Was it a message for her? From who? From what she knew, the only people on the station capable of altering traffic in such a way were herself and the Tarigani Corporation.

She waited for another few minutes, after which the station’s messages ceased to contain the additional packets. Whoever had done this, it seemed they had sent all the data that they intended to, in this manner.

Rachel continued to amalgamate the manner, piecing the fragments together until she finally recreated the original file. In the real world, her holographic projection took a deep breath as she opened in a separated simulated environment, just in case it was some sort of trap. Though she doubted anyone on the station could actually write a code capable of affecting her internal processes, it was best to be careful with matters such as this.

Written in multiple languages from all sorts of races and people across the galaxy, the message contained one simple phrase:

'Are you listening, Rachel?'

Saaya: [The Canvasian Goddess of Shadow, Saaya is an ascendant who is the creator goddess of the Reth, and is responsible for creating many of the natural features of Reth, such as the Downpour region and the smog which surrounds the Reth homeland, guarding them from intrusion by Sunlit Hall. It is unclear to mortals what the particular origin of the dispute between Saaya and her fellow goddess Ceirra, but it has caused many brutal conflicts between the races they created. There are some rare Seiyal and Tovus who revere Saaya, though they are also often attacked as heretics by Sunlit Hall, just like the Reth. Saaya and the Reth fled Canvas after its contact by the Staiven, and their current whereabouts are being kept secret as part of a treaty between Saaya and the Pantheon.]