47th of Season of Air, 58th year of the 32nd cycle

  Newt had no clue how long he had been climbing. Hours certainly, days possibly, even weeks weren’t out of the question. The rocks falling from the infinite height kept getting heavier, smashing his body against the sharp spikes he was climbing, but he kept climbing.

  Nobody was forcing him. He wanted to reach the top. Both his neighbors had fallen a small eternity ago, but that meant nothing. For all Newt knew, they were the weakest of the inner disciples. He only had one person to best. Himself.

  If he could climb when his body told him he could not, if he could make just an extra step, pull himself an extra inch, that was his victory. Deep down, Newt knew the trial was almost certainly over. He was being stubborn, advancing for the sake of advancing, but that was the essence of cultivation. Being stubborn in face of adversity. Refusing to obey the heavens. Refusing to surrender.

  But he was tired. Drained. His arms and legs hurt. His back and front hurt. Clouds drifted not just above and below, but through his mind as well.

  One more, he told himself, grabbed for the next handhold, squeezed it, and pulled himself up.

  One more. The rock struck his back, crushing him against the diamond tips, which pressed his defense to the point of bursting. Granite Crust cracked, Newt’s robe tore, blood flowed.

  One more. He grabbed up and pulled, but his body remained in place.

  One more, he ordered as if wanting it would make it happen. Newt’s arm trembled, his scrawny biceps shaking with effort.

  One more, he lifted his body, raised his leg onto the next outcrop, and fainted.

  He won.

  ***

  “One thousand forty-nine,” Glade said, observing the new star disciple shaking on the ground, his chest bloodied.

  “He’s just eighteen years old.” Hollow entered Newt’s name into the register. “Peak third realm, and if rumors are to be believed, he can probably take either of us on in a fight.”

  The meadow was mostly empty. Forty-nine core disciples slept on the soft grass, along with twenty most persistent inner disciples. The majority of the inner disciples had awoken yesterday, while the tougher ones did so hours ago. They all humbly asked about their results before leaving. The competition has long since ended, but there were five more core disciples clinging to the tower’s wall.

  “When do you think they’ll give up?” Glade asked. “Given their insight, they must know the trial is long over.”

  “And that’s why you and I are outer elders.” Hollow grumbled, but did not blame his fellow elder. He too would have surrendered once the success was assured. “Those five are driven, fighting for the prestige of their masters just as much as they are fighting for their own sake.”

  All five remaining core disciples were all in the fourth realm.

  “Heavens only know when they will give up.” Hollow shook his head. “Emeraldstreak in particular is as stubborn as a triceratops. She might even die before she admits defeat.”

  ***

  Newt slept without dreams. He did not know how much time he spent in the darkness, but when he awoke, he was sprawled on the grass, a thick cotton blanket covering him. It was night, an orchestra of crickets played in the background, the wind blew, carrying the scent of lavender. There was another sweet note to it, and Newt huddled in the blanket, realizing it was the source of the delightful fragrance.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  Lavender. Newt smiled, then remembered where he was.

  “I fell,” he mumbled.

  “You placed sixth, core disciple Newstar,” a balding outer elder said. “There are only three more fighting for the title of the most durable disciple, and while prestigious, the title itself carries no special advantage.”

  Newt nodded. He was having trouble following what the man was talking about, but he considered what he said. He had finished sixth, meaning he outlasted some fourth realm core disciples.

  Did that matter?

  No. Newt tried his best, outdid himself, and when he examined his feelings, he had no regrets. He was satisfied.

  “Thank you for the blanket.”

  “Elder Woodhopper brought it for you.” The second elder’s voice was carefully neutral, and Newt froze in the middle of getting up, nearly tripping on his own feet.

  The outer elder either missed Newt’s fumble, or more likely chose to exercise discretion.

  “Elder Woodhopper said you should return it to her when you get the chance.”

  Newt gulped, his heart thumping against his ribs.

  Newt bowed towards the two before realizing the sect’s etiquette did not demand it, then he turned around and followed the beaten path towards the main sect compound. His mind was a stormy sea, churning with giant waves crashing against each other. The most important question was what did the blanket signify?

  Was it an invitation? Was the elder simply worried about him?

  What could Elder Woodhopper possibly worry about? Me catching a cold?

  No, there might be a million reasons behind her action, but she certainly was not worried about Newt’s wellbeing. Did he appear pathetic and she wanted to cover him? That seemed likelier. Newt glanced at his torn robe and dried blood. The minor wounds have long since healed, but he did look kind of wretched.

  Should I bathe and dress up first? What kind of message am I sending if I appear like this? What kind of message am I sending if I take an hour or two to clean up and make myself presentable?

  Newt wondered, but had no idea.

  I should ask Dandelion. He almost slapped himself at the thought. Newt acted like an idiot when his big brother was around to do the thinking for him. He needed to make his own choice, use his own judgment, especially when it came to personal matters like scented blankets. In fact, he decided he would have to keep quiet about the blanket. It would be his and Elder Woodhopper’s secret.

  And the two outer elders. And anyone else who saw it happen.

  It was a flimsy secret, but still a secret shared between the two of them. It felt romantic.

  Tangled and tripping on his own thoughts and deductions, Newt reached the Chamber of Beasts.

  “Good evening, is Elder Woodhopper around?” Newt almost revealed the flimsy secret and said he was there to return her blanket. The scent of lavender was heavenly.

  “The elder is out for the night, you can wait until tomorrow or try at her home.”

  Newt nodded, his soul leaving him. He might have gulped, he might have stammered something, but he did leave the building. Another choice stood before him. Visit the female elder at night, in the privacy of her home, or go back to his own cozy little house, take a bath, and bring the blanket over tomorrow. To her workplace. Where everyone could see them and hear what they were talking about.

  It can’t be a coincidence.

  Newt went back into the administrative building and as calmly as possible got the directions to Elder Hopper’s home. Then he followed them, wondering whether he was a creep, whether he was giving more significance to the situation than it deserved. It could have all been a string of coincidences.

  A beautiful elder covered him with a scented blanket, then despite not having to sleep, she left her workplace, at night, waiting for him. Newt stopped breathing for a while. He did it mostly out of reflex, but after half a mile, he realized he really needed a breath or two, lest he fainted once more.

  Soon he reached a mansion made of massive logs. It had two stories and smelled of pine. Newt barely climbed onto the front porch when Elder Woodhopper opened the door.

  “Please come in, Newstar.”

  Not a coincidence.

  Stars flashed before his eyes. He tried to respond but settled on a nod and followed Elder Woodhopper inside, wondering whether his breath stank. The first chamber was a small, simple antechamber with a welcome mat made of the tough-scaled hide of some dinosaur. There was no mud, nor even the possibility of it ever reaching the room, but Newt still wiped his shoes and followed his host.

  She was breathtaking as ever. Elder Woodhopper wore a loose, fluffy house robe, which obscured her figure completely. The robe was dark-blue, bordering indigo. The unassuming clothes did not suit her very well, somehow it made the beautiful Elder Woodhopper look plain, but for some reason she remained a beauty in Newt’s eyes.

  She opened the door revealing a long corridor and led the way to the second door on the left. Newt observed the paintings and house plants in passing, but he could not recall what they were or what they depicted, all his attention drawn to the woman before him and the blanket in his hands.

  The only things to exist in the world were Elder Woodhopper and the scent of lavender, which was growing stronger.